THE   POEMS  AND   BALLADS 

OF 

SIR  WALTER   SCOTT 


VOL.  II. 
MARMION 


Lady  Heron  and  James  IV. 


Etching  by  \V.  H.  W.  Bicknell  —  from  Painting  by  Sir  James 
Dromgole  Linton. 


International  lElution 


THE 


POEMS  AND  BALLADS 


OF 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,  BART. 


IN    SIX    VOLUMES 

VOL.  II. 

^ 

Eitttotouctors  Essag  anb  Note* 
BY  ANDREW  LANG 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 
BOSTON 

DANA   ESTES   &   COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS   TO 

ESTES   &    LAURIAT 
IQOO 


INTERNATIONAL  EDITION, 
Limited  to  One  thousand  Copies 

l 


Copyright,  1900 
BY  DANA  ESTES  &  Co. 


y. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

MARMION. 

Introduction  to  Canto  I — To  William  Stuart 

Rose,  Esq 1 

Canto  I.     The  Castle 19 

Introduction  to  Canto  II To  the  Rev.  John 

Marriott,  A.  M 49 

Canto  H.     The  Convent 63 

Introduction  to  Canto  III.  —  To  William  Er- 

skine,  Esq 97 

Canto  in.     The  Hostel,  or  Inn        .         .         .  109 
Introduction  to  Canto  IV.  —  To  James  Skene, 

Esq 137 

Canto  IV.     The  Camp 147 

Introduction  to  Canto  V. —  To  George  Ellis, 

Esq. 181 

Canto  V.     The  Court 191 

Introduction  to  Canto  VI.  —  To  Richard  Heber, 

Esq 239 

Canto  VI.     The  Battle 253 

APPENDIX  TO  MARMION  307 


Marmion. 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

LADY  HERON  AND  JAMES  IV.         .        .        Frontispiece 

WHITBY 64 

TRIAL  OF  CONSTANCE  DE  BEVERLY       ...  84 

CRICHTOUN  CASTLE 154 

LINLITHGOW 160 

THE  LADY  CLARE 166 

TANTALLON  CASTLE         .  212 


Marmion 


NOTICE. 

SOME  alterations  in  the  text  of  the  Introduction 
to  Marmion,  and  of  the  Poem  itself,  as  well  as  various 
additions  to  the  author's  Notes,  will  be  observed  in 
this  edition.  We  have  followed  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
interleaved  copy,  as  finally  revised  by  him  in  the 
summer  of  1831. 

The  preservation  of  the  original  MS.  of  the  Poem 
has  enriched  this  volume  with  numerous  various  read- 
ings, which  will  be  found  curious  and  interesting. 
Afac-simile  of  the  MS.  is  given  at  p.  175. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  MARMION. 

SCOTT  himself  has  told  the  world  about  the  cir- 
cumstances which  hurried  him  in  the  composition  of 
Marmion  (begun  in  1806).  His  brother,  Thomas, 
was  in  pecuniary  difficulties,  which,  till  he  withdrew 
to  Canada,  caused  Sir  Walter  much  anxiety  and  ex- 
pense.1 But  his  love  for  his  brother  was  undimin- 
ished,  and  he  did  not  contradict  the  rumour  that 
Tom  was  the  author  of  Old  Mortality.  Sir  Walter, 
indeed,  encouraged  Tom  to  try  his  hand  at  fiction, 
and,  much  later,  was  of  great  service  to  his  family. 
In  the  review  of  the  Waverley  Novels  in  the  Quar- 
terly (in  part,  at  least,  by  Scott  himself)  he  made  a 
humourous  reference  to  Claverhouse's  capture  of  the 
brother  of  an  eminent  Covenanter,  a  circumstance 
answering  to  the  fixing  of  the  guilt  of  Old  Mortality 
on  Tom. 

"  November's  sky  was  chill  and  drear, 
November's  leaf  was  red  and  sere," 

in  1806,  when  Scott  began  his   poem   at  Ashestiel. 
The  little  country  house  partly  consists  of  remains 

1  A  whole  volume  of  Scott's  letters  to  his  brother  exists 
in  MS. 

zi 


xii  INTRODUCTION  TO   MARMION. 

of  an  old  Border  keep,  and  is  perched  on  a  steep  cliff 
above  a  beautiful  pool  of  the  Tweed.  It  remains  in 
the  possession  of  Scott's  cousin  some  times  removed, 
Miss  Russel,  a  lady  eminent  for  her  science  in  Bor- 
der antiquities.  There  is  still  the  old  invalid's  chair, 
which  Scott  lent  to  a  kinsman,  and,  at  the  close  of 
his  life,  was  obliged  to  occupy  himself.  The  house  is 
within  a  mile  of  Elibank,  where  Sir  Walter's  ances- 
tor, Young  Harden,  is  said  by  legend  to  have  had 
his  choice  between  the  laird's  gibbet,  and  the  laird's 
daughter,  Muckle  Mou'd  Meg.  Not  only  Scott,  but, 
if  family  Bibles  are  admitted  as  evidence,  the  present 
writer,  are  among  the  consequences  of  Harden's 
choice.  There  is  now  a  fine  one-arched  bridge  over 
Tweed,  at  Ashestiel,  but,  to  Scott's  joy,  there  was 
only  a  ford  in  his  time,  a  ford  which  he  took  pleas- 
ure in  riding,  when  Tweed  was  flooded.  He  had,  as 
he  said,  "grand  gallops  in  the  hills,  when  he  was 
thinking  of  Marmion"  According  to  Gillies,  uncon- 
tradicted  by  Lockhart,  during  one  of  these  gallops 
Scott  saw  a  mysterious  appearance,  which  neither  he 
nor  his  mare,  Finella,  liked.  But  no  local  tradition 
known  to  me  explains  the  Brown  Man  of  the  Moors, 
from  whom  Finella  bolted  homewards.  The  days  at 
Ashestiel  were  Scott's  happiest,  he  was  young,  his 
"  imps "  were  "  hardy,  bold,  and  wild ;  "  he  was  suc- 
cessful, and  already  famous. 

Lockhart  mentions  places  haunted  by  the  Sheriff 
while  busy  with  his  poem.  There  was  a  knoll  with 
tall  ashes  on  the  Peel  farm,  Peel  being  a  Border 
keep.  Here  lived  a  Mr.  Laidlaw,  called  Laird  Nippy, 
whose  wife,  a  friend  of  Scott's,  was  a  kinswoman  of 
my  own.  She  received,  from  her  famous  neighbour, 
copies,  handsomely  bound,  of  all  his  poems,  with  his 


INTRODUCTION   TO   MARMION.  xiii 

autograph,  and  these  are  among  the  dearest  of  my 
"  gabions,"  as  Scott  called  such  treasured  relics.  On 
the  river  banks,  and  among  the  hills,  from  Loch  Skene 
and  St.  Mary's  to  Tweed,  Scott  thought  out  his  poem, 
in  appropriate  scenes,  such  as  Wierdlaw  (the  site  of 
a  Border  beacon  in  the  old  times),  and  at  Thirle- 
stane,  whose  laird  alone  was  loyal  when  all  his 
barons  deserted  James  V.  Later,  in  1807,  when 
being  drilled  as  a  volunteer,  to  meet  the  expected 
French  invasion,  Scott  used  to  gallop  his  horse 
through  the  surge  of  the  sea,  "as  if  at  the  charge," 
and  then  he  was  telling,  in  his  mind,  the  tale  of 
Flodden.  So  Lockhart  was  informed  by  Mr.  Skene, 
whose  daughter  yet  remembers  how,  in  1864,  she 
found  her  father  "with  a  look  of  inexpressible  de- 
light on  his  face,"  when  he  said  to  her,  "  I  have  had 
such  a  great  pleasure  !  Scott  has  been  here ;  he  came 
from  a  long  distance  to  see  me.  He  has  been  sit- 
ting at  the  fireside  talking  over  our  happy  recollec- 
tions of  the  past.  .  .  ."  In  two  or  three  days  Mr. 
Skene  also  travelled  over  that  long  distance,  and  was 
with  his  friend  of  the  unforgotten  years.1 

At  that  time  Scott  was  not  averse  to  reciting  his 
unpublished  verses  to  his  friends.  One  of  these,  Mr. 
Guthrie  Wright,  suggested  the  idea  of  Marmion's  stay 
with  Archibald  Bell  the  Cat,  at  Tantallon  Castle.  An- 
other friend  provided  material  in  a  curious  way.  If 
the  reader  will  consult  Scott's  Note  H,  in  his  Ap- 
pendix, he  will  find  a  Latin  passage  copied  by  Sur- 
tees  of  Mainsforth  from  writing  on  the  fly-leaf  of 
Burthogge  On  the  Nature  of  Spirits  (1694).  This 
passage  suggested  Marmion's  battle  with  the  Elfin 

i  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Journal,  ii.  456.  Note.  The  anecdote 
was  repeated  to  myself  by  Miss  Skene. 


xiv  INTRODUCTION   TO   MARMION. 

knight,  and  purports  to  be  taken  from  a  Durham 
MS.  But  the  MS.  "cannot  now  be  found  in  the 
Chapter  Library  of  Durham."  I  have  no  doubt  that 
Mr.  Surtees  humourously  forged  the  whole  Latin  pas- 
sage, as  he  forged  the  ballad  of  Albany  Featherston- 
haugh  (Canto  I.  xiii.),  and  that  of  Bartram's  Dirge. 
To  these  he  later  confessed,  but  Scott  was  never 
aware  of  hoaxes  excellent  in  themselves,  and  charac- 
teristic of  the  age. 

By  January  19,  1808,  Scott  could  tell  Lady  Louisa 
Stuart  that  "Marmion  is,  at  this  instant,  gasping 
upon  Flodden  Field,  and  there  I  have  been  obliged 
to  leave  him  for  these  few  days  in  the  death-pangs. 
I  hope  I  shall  find  time  enough  this  morning  to 
knock  him  on  the  head  with  two  or  three  thumping 
stanzas." 

Almost,  or  quite,  before  the  poem  appeared,  Southey 
had  written  to  Scott,  "  The  story  is  made  of  better 
materials  than  the  Lay,  yet  they  are  not  so  well  fitted 
together.  As  a  whole  it  has  not  pleased  me  so  much, 
—  in  parts,  it  has  pleased  me  more."  Wordsworth 
(one  cannot  believe  that  he  had  read  Marmion)  said  : 
"  I  think  your  end  has  been  attained.  That  it  is  not 
the  end  which  I  should  wish  you  to  propose  to  your- 
self," Scott  will  understand.  Wordsworth,  doubtless, 
thought  that  Scott  should  have  written  about  Idiot 
Boys,  and  similar  homely  modern  themes.  Appar- 
ently most  readers  preferred  the  Lay,  and  most  read- 
ers were  right.  As  every  one  has  heard,  Jeffrey  sent 
his  review  of  the  book  to  Scott,  on  a  day  when  he 
was  engaged  to  dine  with  him.  Jeffrey,  no  doubt, 
said  what  he  thought  he  was  bound  to  say.  The 
Lay,  he  declared,  was  about  as  reasonable  as  "a 
modern  Abbey,  or  an  English  pagoda."  One  such 


INTRODUCTION   TO  MARMION.  xv 

thing  (the  Lay)  might  be  excused,  for  two  there 
was  no  excuse.  Marmion  is  "a  kind  of  pedantry." 
There  is  not  in  it  enough  of  Scottish  national  senti- 
ment, whereas  Jeffrey,  in  reviewing  the  Lay,  had 
censured  the  presence  of  national  sentiment.  Now, 
Scott  has  "  throughout  neglected  Scottish  feelings  and 
Scottish  characters."  The  man  was  a  Whigling,  of 
poetry  and  of  the  charm  of  the  past  he  had  no  sense 
at  all.  He  lived  to  whimper  over  Dickens's  Little 
Nell.  It  was  Jeffrey's  attack  on  his  patriotism  that 
hurt  Scott.  He  had  done  for  our  great  national  sor- 
row, Flodden  Field,  what  Homer  did  for  the  woes  of 
the  Achaeans  and  the  men  of  Ilios.  So  he  was  ac- 
cused of  "neglecting  Scottish  feelings  and  Scottish 
characters !  "  Sir  Walter,  of  course,  assured  Jeffrey 
that  his  digestion  was  undisturbed,  and  that  he  hoped 
the  critic  would  come  to  dinner.  But  Mrs.  Scott 
fired  a  parting  broadside  at  Jeffrey  when  he  said 
good-night.  Nor  did  Sir  Walter  himself  quite  for- 
get the  impertinences  of  his  friend. 

In  Lockhart's  time  the  Lay  was  thought  "the 
more  natural  and  original,  Marmion  the  more  power- 
ful and  splendid."  This  is  a  fair  criticism.  The 
Lay  is  the  more  spontaneous  and  "  inevitable,"  and, 
therefore,  the  better  poem.  That  Marmion  should 
have  committed  "a  mean  felony"  was  a  great  re- 
proach. But  the  knights  of  the  period  were  very 
capable  of  such  misdeeds;  though,  perhaps,  forgery 
was  rather  beyond  their  means.  Of  the  vilest  treach- 
ery the  annals  of  that  age  offer  only  too  many  exam- 
ples, above  all  on  the  part  of  Mannion's  master, 
Henry  VIII.,  and  his  hired  gang  of  recreant  Scots, 
noble  or  "  godly." 

The  plot  of  Marmion  is  that  of  Ivanhoe,  and  of  the 


xvi  INTRODUCTION   TO   MARMION. 

Odyssey.  A  man  thought  dead,  or  lost,  reappears  in 
disguise,  and  avenges  his  wrongs.  The  resemblances 
between  Wilfrid  of  Ivanhoe  and  Wilton,  both  tour- 
neying, unrecognised,  against  an  enemy,  are  striking, 
and  might  have  been  led  as  proof  that  Ivanhoe  and 
Marmion  were  by  the  same  hand.  The  motive,  how- 
ever, is  traditional,  and  frequently  occurs  in  ballads 
and  popular  tales,  all  the  world  over. 

It  is  curious  that  Scott,  originally,  meant  Marmion 
to  reveal  the  identity  of  his  page  with  Constance.1 
The  length  at  which  the  antiquary,  in  Scott,  dwells 
on  monkish  legends  of  Northumbrian  saints  is  not 
quite  worthy  of  the  poet.  That  frail  nuns  were  walled 
up  alive  has  been  contested  by  learned  Catholics,  and 
we  must  presume  that,  if  the  legend  has  any  founda- 
tion at  all,  it  rests  on  the  unauthorised  cruelty  of 
individuals.  But  on  this  question  enough  was  said 
when  Mr.  Haggard,  in  Montezuma's  Daughter,  took 
the  same  license  as  Scott  took  in  Marmion.  The  defi- 
ance of  Constance,  and  her  prophecy  of  the  fall  of 
the  religious  houses,  proves  that  Scott  was  more  suc- 
cessful in  describing  a  girl  of  spirit  than  in  his 
"ministering  angels"  of  heroines.  In  deference, 
perhaps,  to  Mr.  Guthrie  Wright's  criticism,  he  shows 
why  Marmion  did  not  take  the  usual  path  into  Scot- 
land: 

"  They  might  not  choose  the  Lowland  road 
For  the  Merse  forayers  were  abroad." 

The  State  Papers  of  Henry  VIII.  prove,  in  fact, 
that  important  persons  might  often  be  obliged  to 
choose  difficult  and  unfrequented  paths  on  the 
Marches.  Scott's  choice  of  route  is  justified,  as  he 

i  Canto  I.  xvi.,  Note  2. 


INTRODUCTION   TO  MARMION.  xvii 

expected,  by  the  glorious  description  of  the  view  from 
Blackf  ord  Hill,  so  nobly  praised  by  Mr.  Ruskin.  The 
description  of  the  forces  gathered  on  "  Scottish  Ser- 
vice "  is  not  less  accurate  than  brilliant.  By  choice 
or  chance  coincidence,  Scott  employs,  as  to  the  cries 
of  the  Celts,  the  very  words  in  which  Homer  describes 
the  voices  of  the  allies  of  Troy. 

"  Loud  were  their  clamouring  tongues,  as  when 
The  clanging  sea-fowl  leave  the  fen."  1 

Not  knowing  Greek,  Scott  probably  coincided  with 
Homer  by  sheer  similarity  of  genius. 

Always  excellent  in  painting  kings,  of  James  IV. 
Scott  produces  a  portrait  beyond  the  painter's  art  in 
that  monarch's  day.  He  himself  explains  that  Lady 
Heron  was  not  at  James's  court,  and  modern  histo- 
rians are  apt  to  reject  the  whole  legend  of  their  later 
dalliance  at  Ford  Castle,  where  James's  rooms  are 
shown  in  the  ancient  part  of  the  building.  James's 
queen,  by  the  way,  Margaret  Tudor,  was  the  last  per- 
son in  the  world  to  sit  alone,  "  and  weep  the  weary 
hour."  Her  tastes  were  exactly  those  of  her  brother, 
Henry  VIII. 

Scott  hated  "  explanations,"  and  these  tedious  nec- 
essary interruptions  clog  the  brilliant  canto  on  The 
Court,  and  are  not  too  plausible  after  all.2  Scott  is 
himself  again  when  Marmion  beards  "the  Douglas 
in  his  hall,"  and  so  to  the  end  of  the  poem.  The  lay 
of  Flodden  Field,  indeed,  is  the  crown  of  Scott's 


r'  laav  6pvt6ef  of  , 
ffiire  Trcf  /cAayy^  yepdvuv  nefai  obpavoO  npo. 

—  Iliad  iii.  2,  3. 
2  Canto  V.  xxiii. 


xviii  INTRODUCTION   TO   MARMION. 

warlike  poetry:  perhaps  of  all  warlike  poetry  since 
Homer.  We  can  scarcely  say  that  "  he  never  stoops 
his  wing,"  for  there  are  flat  and  needless  lines  in  his 
"thumping  stanzas,"  as  he  called  them,  but  there  is 
also  the  "joy  of  battle,"  and  the  clang  of  steel. 
Details  of  topography  need  not  be  touched  on  here ; 
even  with  field-glasses  the  Scots,  from  Modden,  could 
not  (as  in  the  poem)  watch  the  English  — 

"  as  they  crossed 
The  Till  by  Twisel  Bridge." 

So,  at  least,  it  seems  to  one  who  has  visited  the 
ground.  But  poetry  has  nothing  to  do  with  precise 
military  criticism :  suffice  it  to  say  that,  according  to 
our  latest  historian,  Mr.  Hume  Brown,  Twisel  Bridge 
is  nine  miles  from  Hodden  Edge,  and  there  are  inter- 
vening heights  and  hollows.  James's  real  error  lay 
in  moving  at  all  from  his  strong  position.  The  battle 
is  ideally  and  poetically,  and,  at  the  close,  historically 
correct.  Stanza  xxxiv.,  in  particular,  is  a  glorious 
account  of  that  last  charge  (for  it  was  a  charge,  not 
a  stand)  of  one  of  the  very  few  kings  who  have 
chosen  death  before  defeat.  King  James  was  no 
general,  but  he  hewed  his  way,  by  Surrey's  own  writ- 
ten statement,  to  within  a  lance's  length  of  the  Eng- 
lish leader.  All  was  lost,  indeed,  but  honour;  and 
Scotland  —  which  still  says  of  each  national  calamity, 
"  There  has  not  been  the  like  since  Flodden "  —  for- 
gives the  gayest,  the  bravest,  and  not  the  least 
unhappy  of  the  doomed  house  of  Stuart. 

ANDREW  LANG. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  MAR-MION. 

WHAT  I  have  to  say  respecting  this  Poem  may  be 
briefly  told.  In  the  Introduction  to  the  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel,  I  have  mentioned  the  circumstances, 
so  far  as  my  literary  life  is  concerned,  which  induced 
me  to  resign  the  active  pursuit  of  an  honourable  pro- 
fession, for  the  more  precarious  resources  of  litera- 
ture. My  appointment  to  the  Sheriffdom  of  Selkirk 
called  for  a  change  of  residence.  I  left,  therefore, 
the  pleasant  cottage  I  had  upon  the  side  of  the  Esk, 
for  the  "  pleasanter  banks  of  the  Tweed,"  in  order  to 
comply  with  the  law,  which  requires  that  the  sheriff 
shall  be  resident,  at  least  during  a  certain  number  of 
months,  within  his  jurisdiction.  We  found  a  delight- 
ful retirement,  by  my  becoming  the  tenant  of  my 
intimate  friend  and  cousin-german,  Colonel  Russel, 
in  his  mansion  of  Ashestiel,  which  was  unoccupied, 
during  his  absence  on  military  service  in  India.  The 
house  was  adequate  to  our  accommodation,  and  the 
exercise  of  a  limited  hospitality.  The  situation  is 
uncommonly  beautiful,  by  the  side  of  a  fine  river, 
whose  streams  are  there  very  favourable  for  angling, 


xx  INTRODUCTION   TO   MARMION. 

surrounded  by  the  remains  of  natural  woods,  and  by 
hills  abounding  in  game.  In  point  of  society,  accord- 
ing to  the  heartfelt  phrase  of  Scripture,  we  dwelt 
"  amongst  our  own  people ; "  and  as  the  distance  from 
the  metropolis  was  only  thirty  miles,  we  were  not  out 
of  reach  of  our  Edinburgh  friends,  in  which  city  we 
spent  the  terms  of  the  summer  and  winter  Sessions 
of  the  Court,  that  is,  five  or  six  months  in  the  year. 

An  important  circumstance  had,  about  the  same 
time,  taken  place  in  my  life.  Hopes  had  been  held 
out  to  me  from  an  influential  quarter,  of  a  nature  to 
relieve  me  from  the  anxiety  which  I  must  have  other- 
wise felt,  as  one  upon  the  precarious  tenure  of  whose 
own  life  rested  the  principal  prospects  of  his  family, 
and  especially  as  one  who  had  necessarily  some 
dependence  upon  the  favour  of  the  public,  which  is 
proverbially  capricious;  though  it  is  but  justice  to 
add,  that,  in  my  own  case,  I  have  not  found  it  so. 
Mr.  Pitt  had  expressed  a  wish  to  my  personal  friend, 
the  Eight  Honourable  William  Dundas,  now  Lord 
Clerk  Register  of  Scotland,  that  some  fitting  oppor- 
tunity should  be  taken  to  be  of  service  to  me ;  and  as 
my  views  and  wishes  pointed  to  a  future  rather  than 
an  immediate  provision,  an  opportunity  of  accomplish 
ing  this  was  soon  found.  One  of  the  Principal  Clerks 
of  Session,  as  they  are  called  (official  persons  who 
occupy  an  important  and  responsible  situation,  and 
enjoy  a  considerable  income),  who  had  served  up- 
wards of  thirty  years,  felt  himself,  from  age,  and  the 
infirmity  of  deafness  with  which  it  was  accompanied, 
desirous  of  retiring  from  his  official  situation.  As 
the  law  then  stood,  such  official  persons  were  entitled 
to  bargain  with  their  successors,  either  for  a  sum  of 
money,  which  was  usually  a  considerable  one,  or  for 


INTRODUCTION   TO   MARMION.  xxi 

an  interest  in  the  emoluments  of  the  office  during 
their  life.  My  predecessor,  whose  services  had  been 
unusually  meritorious,  stipulated  for  the  emoluments 
of  his  office  during  his  life,  while  I  should  enjoy  the 
survivorship,  on  the  condition  that  I  discharged  the 
duties  of  the  office  in  the  meantime.  Mr.  Pitt,  how- 
ever, having  died  in  the  interval,  his  administration 
was  dissolved,  and  was  succeeded  by  that  known  by 
the  name  of  the  Fox  and  Grenville  Ministry.  My 
affair  was  so  far  completed  that  my  commission  lay 
in  the  office  subscribed  by  his  Majesty;  but,  from 
hurry  or  mistake,  the  interest  of  my  predecessor  was 
not  expressed  in  it,  as  had  been  usual  in  such  cases. 
Although,  therefore,  it  only  required  payment  of  the 
fees,  I  could  not  in  honour  take  out  the  commission 
in  the  present  state,  since,  in  the  event  of  my  dying 
before  him,  the  gentleman  whom  I  succeeded  must 
have  lost  the  vested  interest  which  he  had  stipulated 
to  retain.  I  had  the  honour  of  an  interview  with 
Earl  Spencer  on  the  subject,  and  he,  in  the  most 
handsome  manner,  gave  directions  that  the  commis- 
sion should  issue  as  originally  intended  ;  adding,  that 
the  matter  having  received  the  royal  assent,  he  re- 
garded only  as  a  claim  of  justice  what  he  would  have 
willingly  done  as  an  act  of  favour.  I  never  saw  Mr. 
Fox  on  this,  or  on  any  other  occasion,  and  never  made 
any  application  to  him,  conceiving  that  in  doing  so  I 
might  have  been  supposed  to  express  political  opin- 
ions contrary  to  those  which  I  had  always  professed. 
In  his  private  capacity,  there  is  no  man  to  whom  I 
would  have  been  more  proud  to  owe  an  obligation, 
had  I  been  so  distinguished. 

By  this  arrangement  I  obtained  the  survivorship 
of  an  office,  the  emoluments  of  which   were  fully 


xxii  INTRODUCTION   TO   MARMION. 

adequate  to  my  wishes;  and  as  the  law  respecting 
the  mode  of  providing  for  superannuated  officers 
was,  about  five  or  six  years  after,  altered  from  that 
which  admitted  the  arrangement  of  assistant  and 
successor,  my  colleague  very  handsomely  took  the 
opportunity  of  the  alteration,  to  accept  of  the  retiring 
annuity  provided  in  such  cases,  and  admitted  me  to 
the  full  benefit  of  the  office. 

But  although  the  certainty  of  succeeding  to  a  con- 
siderable income,  at  the  time  I  obtained  it,  seemed  to 
assure  me  of  a  quiet  harbour  in  my  old  age,  I  did  not 
escape  my  share  of  inconvenience  from  the  contrary 
tides  and  currents  by  which  we  are  so  often  en- 
countered in  our  journey  through  life.  Indeed,  the 
publication  of  my  next  poetical  attempt  was  prema- 
turely accelerated  from  one  of  those  unpleasant 
accidents  which  can  neither  be  foreseen  nor  avoided. 

I  had  formed  the  prudent  resolution  to  endeavour 
to  bestow  a  little  more  labour  than  I  had  yet  done 
on  my  productions,  and  to  be  in  no  hurry  again  to 
announce  myself  as  a  candidate  for  literary  fame. 
Accordingly,  particular  passages  of  a  poem,  which 
was  finally  called  Marmion,  were  laboured  with  a 
good  deal  of  care,  by  one  by  whom  much  care  was 
seldom  bestowed.  Whether  the  work  was  worth  the 
labour  or  not,  I  am  no  competent  judge ;  but  I  may 
be  permitted  to  say  that  the  period  of  its  composition 
was  a  very  happy  one,  in  my  life ;  so  much  so,  that  I 
remember  with  pleasure,  at  this  moment,  some  of  the 
spots  in  which  particular  passages  were  composed. 
It  is  probably  owing  to  this  that  the  Introductions 
to  the  several  Cantos  assumed  the  form  of  familiar 
epistles  to  my  intimate  friends,  in  which  I  alluded, 
perhaps  more  than  was  necessary  or  graceful,  to  my 


INTRODUCTION   TO   MARMION.  xxiii 

domestic  occupations  and  amusements,  —  a  loquacity 
which  may  be  excused  by  those  who  remember  that 
I  was  still  young,  light-headed,  and  happy,  and  that 
"out  of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth 
speaketh." 

The  misfortunes  of  a  near  relation  and  friend, 
which  happened  at  this  time,  led  me  to  alter  my 
prudent  determination,  which  had  been,  to  use  great 
precaution  in  sending  this  poem  into  the  world ;  and 
made  it  convenient  at  least,  if  not  absolutely  neces- 
sary, to  hasten  its  publication.  The  publishers  of 
The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  emboldened  by  the 
success  of  that  poem,  willingly  offered  a  thousand 
pounds  for  Marmion.  The  transaction  being  no 
secret,  afforded  Lord  Byron,  who  was  then  at  general 
war  with  all  who  blacked  paper,  an  apology  for 
including  me  in  his  satire,  entitled  English  Bards 
and  Scotch  Reviewers.1  I  never  could  conceive  how 

1  Next  view  in  state,  proud  prancing  on  his  roan, 
The  golden-crested  haughty  Marmion, 
Now  forging  scrolls,  now  foremost  in  the  fight, 
Not  quite  a  felon,  yet  but  half  a  knight, 
The  gibbet  or  the  field  prepared  to  grace  ; 
A  mighty  mixture  of  the  great  and  base. 
And  think1  st  thou,  Scott !  by  vain  conceit  perchance, 
On  public  taste  to  foist  thy  stale  romance, 
Though  Murray  with  his  Miller  may  combine 
To  yield  thy  muse  just  half-a-crown  per  line  ? 
No  !  when  the  sons  of  song  descend  to  trade, 
Their  bays  are  sear,  their  former  laurels  fade. 
Let  such  forego  the  poet's  sacred  name, 
Who  rack  their  brains  for  lucre,  not  for  fame  ; 
Still  for  stern  Mammon  may  they  toil  in  vain  ! 
And  sadly  gaze  on  gold  they  cannot  gain  ! 
Such  be  their  meed,  such  still  the  just  reward 
Of  prostituted  muse  and  hireling  bard  ! 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION   TO   MARMION. 

an  arrangement  between  an  author  and  his  publish- 
ers, if  satisfactory  to  the  persons  concerned,  could 
afford  matter  of  censure  to  any  third  party.  I  had 
taken  no  unusual  or  ungenerous  means  of  enhancing 
the  value  of  my  merchandise  —  I  had  never  higgled 
a  moment  about  the  bargain,  but  accepted  at  once 
what  I  considered  the  handsome  offer  of  my  publish- 
ers. These  gentlemen,  at  least,  were  not  of  opinion 
that  they  had  been  taken  advantage  of  in  the  trans- 
action, which  indeed  was  one  of  their  own  framing ; 
on  the  contrary,  the  sale  of  the  Poem  was  so  far 
beyond  their  expectation  as  to  induce  them  to  supply 
the  author's  cellars  with  what  is  always  an  accept- 
able present  to  a  young  Scottish  housekeeper,  namely, 
a  hogshead  of  excellent  claret. 

The  Poem  was  finished  in  too  much  haste  to  allow 
me  an  opportunity  of  softening  down,  if  not  remov- 
ing, some  of  its  most  prominent  defects.  The  nature 
of  Marmion's  guilt,  although  similar  instances  were 
found,  and  might  be  quoted,  as  existing  in  feudal 
times,  was  nevertheless  not  sufficiently  peculiar  to  be 
indicative  of  the  character  of  the  period,  forgery 
being  the  crime  of  a  commercial,  rather  than  a  proud 
and  warlike  age.  This  gross  defect  ought  to  have 
been  remedied  or  palliated.  Yet  I  suffered  the  tree 
to  lie  as  it  had  fallen.  I  remember  my  friend, 
Doctor  Leyden,  then  in  the  East,  wrote  me  a  furious 
remonstrance  on  the  subject.  I  have,  nevertheless, 
always  been  of  opinion  that  corrections,  however  in 
themselves  judicious,  have  a  bad  effect  —  after  pub- 
lication. An  author  is  never  so  decidedly  condemned 

For  this  we  spurn  Apollo's  venal  son, 
And  bid  a  long  "  Good-night  to  Marmion." 

—  Byron's  Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  235-6. 


INTRODUCTION  TO   MARMION.  xxv 

as  on  his  own  confession,  and  may  long  find  apolo- 
gists and  partisans  until  he  gives  up  his  own  cause. 
I  was  not,  therefore,  inclined  to  afford  matter  for 
censure  out  of  my  own  admissions;  and,  by  good 
fortune,  the  novelty  of  the  subject,  and,  if  I  may  say 
so,  some  force  and  vivacity  of  description,  were 
allowed  to  atone  for  many  imperfections.  Thus  the 
second  experiment  on  the  public  patience,  generally 
the  most  perilous,  —  for  the  public  are  then  most  apt 
to  judge  with  rigour,  what  in  the  first  instance  they 
had  received,  perhaps,  with  imprudent  generosity,  — 
was  in  my  case  decidedly  successful.  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  pass  this  ordeal  favourably,  and  the 
return  of  sales  before  me  makes  the  copies  amount  to 
thirty-six  thousand  printed  between  1808  and  1825, 
besides  a  considerable  sale  since  that  period.  I  shall 
here  pause  upon  the  subject  of  Marmion,  and,  in  a 
few  prefatory  words  to  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,  the 
last  poem  of  mine  which  obtained  eminent  success, 
I  will  continue  the  task  which  I  have  imposed  on 
myself  respecting  the  origin  of  my  productions. 

Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 


MARMION 

A  TALE  OF   FLODDEN   FIELD1 
IN  SIX  CANTOS 


Alas !  that  Scottish  maid  should  sing 
The  combat  where  her  lover  fell ! 

That  Scottish  Bard  should  wake  the  string, 
The  triumph  of  our  foes  to  tell. 

LEYDBN. 


1  Published  in  4to,  February,  1808. 


TO 

THE  BIGHT  HONOURABLE 

f^mrg,  3L0rt  jflfUmtague 

ETC.,  ETC.,  ETC. 

THIS    ROMANCE    IS    INSCRIBED 

BY   THE    AUTHOR 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

IT  is  hardly  to  be  expected  that  an  author  whom 
the  public  have  honoured  with  some  degree  of  ap- 
plause should  not  be  again  a  trespasser  on  their 
kindness.  Yet  the  author  of  Marmion  must  be  sup- 
posed to  feel  some  anxiety  concerning  its  success, 
since  he  is  sensible  that  he  hazards,  by  this  second 
intrusion,  any  reputation  which  his  first  poem  may 
have  procured  him.  The  present  story  turns  upon 
the  private  adventures  of  a  fictitious  character;  but 
is  called  a  Tale  of  Flodden  Field,  because  the  hero's 
fate  is  connected  with  that  memorable  defeat,  and 
the  causes  which  led  to  it.  The  design  of  the  author 
was,  if  possible,  to  apprise  his  readers,  at  the  outset, 
of  the  date  of  his  story,  and  to  prepare  them  for  the 
manners  of  the  age  in  which  it  is  laid.  Any  histori- 
cal narrative,  far  more  an  attempt  at  epic  composi- 
tion, exceeded  his  plan  of  a  romantic  tale;  yet  he 
may  be  permitted  to  hope,  from  the  popularity  of 
The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  that  an  attempt  to 
paint  the  manners  of  the  feudal  times,  upon  a 
broader  scale,  and  in  the  course  of  a  more  interesting 
story,  will  not  be  unacceptable  to  the  public. 

The  poem  opens  about  the  commencement  of 
August,  and  concludes  with  the  defeat  of  Flodden, 
9th  September,  1513. 

Ashestiel,  1808. 


INTRODUCTION  TO   CANTO  FIRST. 


To  William  Stewart  Rose,  Esq. 

Ashestiel,  Ettrick  Forest, 
NOVEMBER'S  sky  is  chill  and  drear, 
November's  leaf  is  red  and  sear : 
Late  gazing  down  the  steepy  linn, 
That  hems  our  little  garden  in, 
Low  in  its  dark  and  narrow  glen, 
You  scarce  the  rivulet  might  ken, 
So  thick  the  tangled  greenwood  grew, 
So  feeble  trill'd  the  streamlet  through : 
Now,  murmuring  hoarse,  and  frequent  seen 
Through  bush  and  brier,  no  longer  green, 
An  angry  brook,  it  sweeps  the  glade, 
Braws  over  rock  and  wild  cascade, 
And,  foaming  brown  with  doubled  speed, 
Hurries  its  waters  to  the  Tweed. 

No  longer  Autumn's  glowing  red 
Upon  our  Forest  hills  is  shed ; l 

1  MS.  —  "  No  longer  now  in  glowing  red 

The  Ettericke-Forest  hills  are  clad.'* 
1  i 


MARMION. 

No  more,  beneath  the  evening  beam, 
Fair  Tweed  reflects  their  purple  gleam ; 
Away  hath  pass'd  the  heather-bell 
That  bloom'd  so  rich  on  Needpath-fell ; 
Sallow  his  brow,  and  russet  bare 
Are  now  the  sister-heights  of  Yare. 
The  sheep,  before  the  pinching  heaven, 
To  shelter'd  dale  and  down  are  driven, 
Where  yet  some  faded  herbage  pines, 
And  yet  a  watery  sunbeam  shines : 
In  meek  despondency  they  eye 
The  wither'd  sward  and  wintry  sky, 
And  far  beneath  their  summer  hill, 
Stray  sadly  by  Glenkinnon's  rill : 
The  shepherd  shifts  his  mantle's  fold, 
And  wraps  him  closer  from  the  cold ; 
His  dogs  no  merry  circles  wheel, 
But,  shivering,  follow  at  his  heel ; 
A  cowering  glance  they  often  cast, 
As  deeper  moans  the  gathering  blast. 

My  imps,  though  hardy,  bold,  and  wild, 
As  best  befits  the  mountain  child, 
Feel  the  sad  influence  of  the  hour, 
And  wail  the  daisy's  vanish'd  flower ; 
Their  summer  gambols  tell,  and  mourn, 
And  anxious  ask,  —  Will  spring  return, 
And  birds  and  lambs  again  be  gay, 
And  blossoms  clothe  the  hawthorn  spray  ? 

Yes,  prattlers,  yes.     The  daisy's  flower 
Again  shall  paint  your  summer  bower ; 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FIRST.  3 

Again  the  hawthorn  shall  supply 
The  garlands  you  delight  to  tie ; 
The  lambs  upon  the  lea  shall  bound, 
The  wild  birds  carol  to  the  round, 
And  while  you  frolic  light  as  they, 
Too  short  shall  seem  the  summer  day. 

To  mute  and  to  material  things 
New  lif e  revolving  summer  brings ; 1 
The  genial  call  dead  Nature  hears, 
And  in  her  glory  reappears. 
But  oh !  my  Country's  wintry  state 
What  second  spring  shall  renovate  ? 
What  powerful  call  shall  bid  arise 
The  buried  warlike  and  the  wise ; 2 
The  mind  that  thought  for  Britain's  weal, 
The  hand  that  grasp'd  the  victor  steel  ? 
The  vernal  sun  new  life  bestows 
Even  on  the  meanest  flower  that  blows ; 

1  The  "chance  and  change"  of  nature,  —  the  vicissitudes 
which  are  observable  in  the  moral  as  well  as  the  physical 
part  of  the  creation,  —  have  given  occasion  to  more  exquisite 
poetry  than  any  other  general  subject.  The  Author  had  before 
made  ample  use  of  the  sentiments  suggested  by  these  topics ; 
yet  he  is  not  satisfied,  but  begins  again  with  the  same  in  his 
first  introduction.  The  lines  are  certainly  pleasing ;  but  they 
fall,  in  our  estimation,  far  below  that  beautiful  simile  of  the 
Tweed  which  he  has  introduced  into  his  former  poem.  The 
At,  at,  rai  ftahaicai  of  Moschus  is,  however,  worked  up  again 
to  some  advantage  in  the  following  passage  :  "To  mute,"  etc. 
—Monthly  Rev.  May,  1808. 

.  —  "  What  call  awakens  from  the  dead 

The  hero's  heart,  the  patriot's  head  ?  " 


MARMION. 

But  vainly,  vainly  may  he  shine, 
Where  glory  weeps  o'er  Nelson's  shrine ; 
And  vainly  pierce  the  solemn  gloom, 
That  shrouds,  0  Pitt,  thy  hallo w'd  tomb! 

Deep  graved  in  every  British  heart, 

0  never  let  those  names  depart ! 1 

Say  to  your  sons, —  Lo,  here  his  grave, 

Who  victor  died  on  Gadite  wave ; 2 

To  him,  as  to  the  burning  levin, 

Short,  bright,  resistless  course  was  given. 

Where'er  his  country's  foes  were  found, 

Was  heard  the  fatal  thunder's  sound, 

Till  burst  the  bolt  on  yonder  shore, 

Eoll'd,  blazed,  destroy'd,  —  and  was  no  more. 

Nor  mourn  ye  less  his  perish'd  worth, 
Who  bade  the  conqueror  go  forth, 
And  launch'd  that  thunderbolt  of  war 
On  Egypt,  Hafnia,3  Trafalgar ; 
Who,  born  to  guide  such  high  emprise, 
For  Britain's  weal  was  early  wise ; 
Alas !  to  whom  the  Almighty  gave, 
For  Britain's  sins,  an  early  grave ! 
His  worth,  who,  in  his  mightiest  hour, 
A  bauble  held  the  pride  of  power, 
Spurn'd  at  the  sordid  lust  of  pelf, 
And  served  his  Albion  for  herself ; 

1  MS.  —  "  Deep  in  each  British  bosom  wrote, 

O  never  be  those  names  forgot ! " 
8  Nelson.  8  Copenhagen. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FIRST.  5 

Who,  when  the  frantic  crowd  amain 
Strain'd  at  subjection's  bursting  rein,1 
O'er  their  wild  mood  full  conquest  gain'd, 
The  pride,  he  would  not  crush,  restrain'd, 
Show'd  their  fierce  zeal  a  worthier  cause,2 
And  brought  the  freeman's  arm,  to  aid  the  free- 
man's laws. 

Had'st   thou   but  lived,  though  stripp'd  of 

power,3 

A  watchman  on  the  lonely  tower, 
Thy  thrilling  trump  had  roused  the  land, 
When  fraud  or  danger  were  at  hand ; 
By  thee,  as  by  the  beacon-light, 
Our  pilots  had  kept  course  aright ; 

1  MS. — "  Tugged  at  subjection's  cracking  rein." 

2  MS. — "  Show'd  their  bold  zeal  a  worthier  cause." 

8  This  paragraph  was  interpolated  on  the  blank  page  of  the 
MS.     We  insert  the  lines  as  they  appear  there  : 

"  O  had  he  lived,  though  stripp'd  of  power, 
Like  a  lone  watchman  on  the  tower, 
His  thrilling  trumpet  through  the  land 
Had  warn'd  when  foemen  were  at  hand, 
As  by  some  beacon's  lonely  light, 
f  By  thee  our  course  had  steer'd  aright ;  ~\ 
J  Our  steady  course  had  steer'd  aright ;      y 
{  Our  Pilots  kept  their  course  aright ;        J 
His  single  mind,  unbent  by  fate, 
Had  propp'd  his  country's  tottering  weight ; 

As  some  \   '      (  column  left  alone, 
I  vast ) 

(  Had  propp'd  our  tottering  state  and  throne, 
I  His  strength  had  propp'd  our  tottering  throne 
The  beacon  light  is  quench'd  in  smoke, 
The  warder  fallen,  the  column  broke." 


MARMION. 

As  some  proud  column,  though  alone, 

Thy  strength  had  propp'd  the  tottering  throne 

Now  is  the  stately  column  broke, 

The  beacon-light  is  quench'd  in  smoke, 

The  trumpet's  silver  sound  is  still, 

The  warder  silent  on  the  hill ! 


Oh  think,  how  to  his  latest  day,1 
When  Death,  just  hovering,  claim'd  his  prey, 
With  Palinure's  unalter'd  mood, 
Firm  at  his  dangerous  post  he  stood ; 
Each  call  for  needful  rest  repell'd, 
With  dying  hand  the  rudder  held, 
Till,  in  his  fall,  with  fateful  sway, 
The  steerage  of  the  realm  gave  way ! 
Then,  while  on  Britain's  thousand  plains, 
One  unpolluted  church  remains, 
Whose  peaceful  bells  ne'er  sent  around 
The  bloody  tocsin's  maddening  sound, 
But  still,  upon  the  hallow'd  day,2 
Convoke  the  swains  to  praise  and  pray ; 
Whose  faith  and  civil  peace  are  dear, 
Grace  this  cold  marble  with  a  tear,  — 
He,  who  preserved  them,  Pitt,  lies  here ! 

Nor  yet  suppress  the  generous  sigh, 
Because  his  rival  slumbers  nigh ; 


1  MS.— "  Yet  think  how  to  his  latest  day." 
8 MS.— "  But  still  upon  the  holy  day." 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FIRST.  7 

Nor  be  thy  requiescat  dumb, 
Lest  it  be  said  o'er  Fox's  tomb.1 
For  talents  mourn,  untimely  lost, 
When  best  employ'd,  and  wanted  most ; 
Mourn  genius  high,  and  lore  profound, 
And  wit  that  loved  to  play,  not  wound ; 
And  all  the  reasoning  powers  divine, 
To  penetrate,  resolve,  combine ; 
And  feelings  keen,  and  fancy's  glow,  — 
They  sleep  with  him  who  sleeps  below : 
And,  if  thou  mourn'st  they  could  not  save 
From  error  him  who  owns  this  grave,       • 
Be  every  harsher  thought  suppress'd, 
And  sacred  be  the  last  long  rest. 
Here,  where  the  end  of  earthly  things 
Lays  heroes,  patriots,  bards,  and  kings ; 
Where  stiff  the  hand,  and  still  the  tongue, 
Of  those  who  fought,  and  spoke,  and  sung ; 
Here,  where  the  fretted  aisles  prolong 
The  distant  notes  of  holy  song, 
As  if  some  angel  spoke  agen, 
*  All  peace  on  earth,  good- will  to  men ; " 
If  ever  from  an  English  heart, 
O,  here  let  prejudice  depart, 

1  In  place  of  the  next  twelve  lines,  the  original  MS.  has  the 
following : 

"  If  genius  high,  and  judgment  sound, 
And  wit  that  loved  to  play,  not  wound, 
And  all  the  reasoning  powers  divine, 
To  penetrate,  resolve,  combine, 
Could  save  one  mortal  of  the  herd 
From  error —  Fox  had  never  err'd." 


8  MARMION. 

And,  partial  feeling  cast  aside,1 
Record,  that  Fox  a  Briton  died ! 
When  Europe  crouch'd  to  France's  yoke, 
And  Austria  bent,  and  Prussia  broke, 
And  the  firm  Russian's  purpose  brave, 
Was  barter'd  by  a  timorous  slave, 
Even  then  dishonour's  peace  he  spurn'd, 
The  sullied  olive-branch  return'd, 
Stood  for  his  country's  glory  fast, 
And  nail'd  her  colours  to  the  mast ! 
Heaven,  to  reward  his  firmness,  gave 
A  portion  in  this  honour'd  grave, 
And  ne'er  held  marble  in  its  trust 
Of  two  such  wondrous  men  the  dust.2 

With  more  than  mortal  powers  endow'd, 
How  high  they  soar'd  above  the  crowd ! 
Theirs  was  no  common  party  race,3 
Jostling  by  dark  intrigue  for  place ; 

1  MS. — "And  party  passion  doff'd  aside." 

2  The  first  epistolary  effusion,  containing  a  threnody  on 
Nelson,  Pitt,  and  Fox,  exhibits  a  remarkable  failure.     We  are 
unwilling  to  quarrel  with  a  poet  on  the  score  of  politics ;  but 
the  manner  in  which  he  has  chosen  to  praise  the  last  of  these 
great  men  is  more  likely,  we  conceive,  to  give  offence  to  his 
admirers  than  the  most  direct  censure.      The  only  deed  for 
which  he  is  praised  is  for  having  broken  off  the  negotiation 
for  peace ;  and  for  this  act  of  firmness,  it  is  added,  Heaven 
rewarded  him  with  a  share  in  the  honoured  grave  of  Pitt !    It 
is  then  said  that  his  errors  should  be  forgotten,  and  that  he 
died    a    Briton,  —  a   pretty  plain    insinuation    that,   in  the 
author's  opinion,  he  did  not  live  one  ;  and  just  such  an  en- 
comium as  he  himself  pronounces  over  the  grave  of  his  villain 
hero,  Marmion.  —  Jeffrey. 

3 MS.  —  "  Theirs  was  no  common  courtier  race." 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FIRST. 

Like  fabled  Gods,  their  mighty  war 

Shook  realms  and  nations  in  its  jar ; 

Beneath  each  banner  proud  to  stand, 

Look'd  up  the  noblest  of  the  land, 

Till  through  the  British  world  were  known 

The  names  of  Pitt  and  Fox  alone. 

Spells  of  such  force  no  wizard  grave 

E'er  framed  in  dark  Thessalian  cave, 

Though  his  could  drain  the  ocean  dry, 

And  force  the  planets  from  the  sky.1 

These  spells  are  spent,  and,  spent  with  these, 

The  wine  of  life  is  on  the  lees. 

Genius,  and  taste,  and  talent  gone, 

For  ever  tomb'd  beneath  the  stone, 

Where  —  taming  thought  to  human  pride !  — 

The  mighty  chiefs  sleep  side  by  side.2 

1  MS.  —  "  And  force  the  pale  moon  from  the  sky." 
2  Reader  !  remember  when  thou  wert  a  lad, 
Then  Pitt  was  all ;  or,  if  not  all,  so  much, 
His  very  rival  almost  deem'd  him  such. 
We,  we  have  seen  the  intellectual  race 
Of  giants  stand,  like  Titans,  face  to  face  ; 
Athos  and  Ida,  with  a  dashing  sea 
Of  eloquence  between,  which  flow'd  all  free, 
As  the  deep  billows  of  the  ^Egean  roar 
Betwixt  the  Hellenic  and  the  Phrygian  shore. 
But  where  are  they  —  the  rivals  !  —  a  few  feet 
Of  sullen  earth  divide  each  winding-sheet. 
How  peaceful  and  how  powerful  is  the  grave 
Which  hushes  all  !  a  calm  unstormy  wave 
Which  overweeps  the  world.     The  theme  is  old 
Of  "  dust  to  dust ;  "  but  half  its  tale  untold  ; 
Time  tempers  not  its  terrors. 

—  Byron's  Age  of  Bronze. 


io  MARMION. 

Drop  upon  Fox's  grave  the  tear, 
'Twill  trickle  to  his  rival's  bier ; 
O'er  Pitt's  the  mournful  requiem  sound, 
And  Fox's  shall  the  notes  rebound. 
The  solemn  echo  seems  to  cry,  — 
"  Here  let  their  discord  with  them  die. 
Speak  not  for  those  a  separate  doom, 
Whom  Fate  made  Brothers  in  the  tomb ; 
But  search  the  land  of  li ving  men, 
Where  wilt  thou  find  their  like  agen  ? " 

Eest,  ardent  Spirits  !  till  the  cries 
Of  dying  Nature  bid  you  rise ; 
Not  even  your  Britain's  groans  can  pierce 
The  leaden  silence  of  your  hearse ; 
Then,  0,  how  impotent  and  vain 
This  grateful  tributary  strain ! 
Though  not  unmark'd  from  northern  clime, 
Ye  heard  the  Border  Minstrel's  rhyme : 
His  Gothic  harp  has  o'er  you  rung ; 
The  Bard  you  deign'd  to  praise,  your  deathless 
names  has  sung. 

Stay  yet,  illusion,  stay  a  while, 
My  wilder'd  fancy  still  beguile ! 
From  this  high  theme  how  can  I  part, 
Ere  half  unloaded  is  my  heart ! 
For  all  the  tears  e'er  sorrow  drew, 
And  all  the  raptures  fancy  knew, 
And  all  the  keener  rush  of  blood, 
That  throbs  through  bard  in  bard-like  mood, 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FIRST.          n 

Were  here  a  tribute  mean  and  low, 

Though  all  their  mingled  streams  could  flow  — 

Woe,  wonder,  and  sensation  high, 

In  one  spring-tide  of  ecstasy  !  — 

It  will  not  be  —  it  may  not  last  — 

The  vision  of  enchantment's  past : 

Like  frostwork  in  the  morning  ray, 

The  fancied  fabric  melts  away  ; J 

Each  Gothic  arch,  memorial-stone, 

And  long,  dim,  lofty  aisle,  are  gone ; 

And,  lingering  last,  deception  dear, 

The  choir's  high  sounds  die  on  my  ear. 

Now  slow  return  the  lonely  down, 

The  silent  pastures  bleak  and  brown, 

The  farm  begirt  with  copsewood  wild, 

The  gambols  of  each  frolic  child, 

Mixing  their  shrill  cries  with  the  tone 

Of  Tweed's  dark  waters  rushing  on. 

Prompt  on  unequal  tasks  to  run, 
Thus  Nature  disciplines  her  son : 
Meeter,  she  says,  for  me  to  stray, 
And  waste  the  solitary  day, 
In  plucking  from  yon  fen  the  reed, 
And  watch  it  floating  down  the  Tweed ; 
Or  idly  list  the  shrilling  lay, 
With  which  the  milkmaid  cheers  her  way, 


1  If  but  a  beam  of  sober  reason  play, 
Lo  !  Fancy's  fairy  frostwork  melts  away. 

—  Rogers' s  Pleasures  of  Memory. 


12  MARMION. 

Marking  its  cadence  rise  and  fail, 
As  from  the  field,  beneath  her  pail, 
She  trips  it  down  the  uneven  dale : 
Meeter  for  me,  by  yonder  cairn, 
The  ancient  shepherd's  tale  to  learn ; 
Though  oft  he  stop  in  rustic  fear,1 
Lest  his  old  legends  tire  the  ear 
Of  one,  who,  in  his  simple  mind, 
May  boast  of  book-learn'd  taste  refined. 

But  thou,  my  friend,  canst  fitly  tell, 
(For  few  have  read  romance  so  well,) 
How  still  the  legendary  lay 
O'er  poet's  bosom  holds  its  sway; 
How  on  the  ancient  minstrel  strain 
Time  lays  his  palsied  hand  in  vain ; 
And  how  our  hearts  at  doughty  deeds, 
By  warriors  wrought  in  steely  weeds, 
Still  throb  for  fear  and  pity's  sake  ; 
As  when  the  Champion  of  the  Lake 
Enters  Morgana's  fated  house, 
Or  in  the  Chapel  Perilous, 
Despising  spells  and  demons'  force, 
Holds  converse  with  the  unburied  corse;2 
Or  when,  Dame  Ganore's  grace  to  move, 
(Alas,  that  lawless  was  their  love !) 

1  MS.  —  "  Though  oft  he  stops  to  wonder  still 
That  his  old  legends  have  the  skill 
To  win  so  well  the  attentive  ear, 
Perchance  to  draw  the  sigh  or  tear." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FIRST.          13 

He  sought  proud  Tarquin  in  his  den, 
And  freed  full  sixty  knights;  or  when, 
A  sinful  man,  and  unconfess'd, 
He  took  the  Sangreal's  holy  quest, 
And,  slumbering,  saw  the  vision  high, 
He  might  not  view  with  waking  eye.1 

The  mightiest  chiefs  of  British  song 
Scorn'd  not  such  legends  to  prolong: 
They  gleam  through  Spenser's  elfin  dream, 
And  mix  in  Milton's  heavenly  theme; 
And  Dryden,  in  immortal  strain, 
Had  raised  the  Table  Eound  again,2 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

a  Dryden's  melancholy  account  of  his  projected  Epic  Poem, 
blasted  by  the  selfish  and  sordid  parsimony  of  his  patrons,  is 
contained  in  an  Essay  on  Satire  addressed  to  the  Earl  of 
Dorset,  and  prefixed  to  the  translation  of  Juvenal.  After 
mentioning  a  plan  of  supplying  machinery  from  the  guardian 
angels  of  kingdoms,  mentioned  in  the  Book  of  Daniel,  he  adds  : 

"Thus,  my  lord,  I  have,  as  briefly  as  I  could,  given  your 
lordship,  and  by  you  the  world,  a  rude  draught  of  what  I  have 
been  long  labouring  in  my  imagination,  and  what  I  had  in- 
tended to  have  put  in  practice  (though  far  unable  for  the 
attempt  of  such  a  poem) ;  and  to  have  left  the  stage,  to  which 
my  genius  never  much  inclined  me,  for  a  work  which  would 
have  taken  up  my  life  in  the  performance  of  it.  This,  too,  I 
had  intended  chiefly  for  the  honour  of  my  native  country,  to 
which  a  poet  is  particularly  obliged.  Of  two  subjects,  both 
relating  to  it,  I  was  doubtful  whether  I  should  choose  that  of 
King  Arthur  conquering  the  Saxons,  which,  being  farther  dis- 
tant in  time,  gives  the  greater  scope  to  my  invention  ;  or  that 
of  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  in  subduing  Spain,  and  restoring 
it  to  the  lawful  prince,  though  a  great  tyrant,  Don  Pedro  the 
Cruel ;  which,  for  the  compass  of  time,  including  only  the  expe- 
dition of  one  year,  for  the  greatness  of  the  action,  and  its 


I4  MARMION. 

But  that  a  ribald  King  and  Court 
Bade  him  toil  on,  to  make  them  sport ; 
Demanded  for  their  niggard  pay, 
Fit  for  their  souls,  a  looser  lay, 
Licentious  satire,  song  and  play ; l 
The  world  defrauded  of  the  high  design,2 
Profaned  the  God-given  strength,  and  marr'd 
the  lofty  line. 

Warm'd  by  such  names,  well  may  we  then, 
Though  dwindled  sons  of  little  men, 


answerable  event,  for  the  magnanimity  of  the  English  hero, 
opposed  to  the  ingratitude  of  the  person  whom  he  restored, 
and  for  the  many  beautiful  episodes  which  I  had  interwoven 
with  the  principal  design,  together  with  the  characters  of  the 
chiefest  English  persons  (wherein,  after  Virgil  and  Spenser,  I 
would  have  taken  occasion  to  represent  my  living  friends  and 
patrons  of  the  noblest  families,  and  also  shadowed  the  events 
of  future  ages  in  the  succession  of  our  imperial  line),  —  with 
these  helps,  and  those  of  the  machines  which  I  have  mentioned, 
I  might  perhaps  have  done  as  well  as  some  of  my  predecessors, 
or  at  least  chalked  out  a  way  for  others  to  amend  my  errors  in 
a  like  design  ;  but  being  encouraged  only  with  fair  words  by 
King  Charles  II.  ,  my  little  salary  ill  paid,  and  no  prospect  of  a 
future  subsistence,  I  was  then  discouraged  in  the  beginning  of 
my  attempt  ;  and  now  age  has  overtaken  me,  and  want,  a  more 
insufferable  evil,  through  the  change  of  the  times,  has  wholly 
disabled  me." 

1  MS.  —  "  Licentious  song,  lampoon,  and  play."- 


"The  world  defrauded  of  the  bold  design, 

And  quench'd  the  heroic  >  ,, 

T.    .       ,  .  ,  >  fire,  and  marr'd  the  lofty  line. 

Profaned  the  heavenly      ) 

Again, 

"Profaned  his  God-given  strength,  and  marr'd  his  lofty  line. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FIRST.          15 

Essay  to  break  a  feeble  lance 

In  the  fair  fields  of  old  romance ; 

Or  seek  the  moated  castle's  cell, 

Where  long  through  talisman  and  spell, 

While  tyrants  ruled,  and  damsels  wept, 

Thy  Genius,  Chivalry,  hath  slept: 

There  sound  the  harpings  of  the  North, 

Till  he  awake  and  sally  forth, 

On  venturous  quest  to  prick  again, 

In  all  his  arms,  with  all  his  train,1 

Shield,  lance,  and  brand,  and  plume,  and  scarf, 

Fay,  giant,  dragon,  squire,  and  dwarf, 

And  wizard  with  his  wand  of  might, 

And  errant  maid  on  palfrey  white. 

Around  the  Genius  weave  their  spells, 

Pure  Love,  who  scarce  his  passion  tells ; 

Mystery,  half  veil'd  and  half  reveal'd ; 

And  Honour,  with  his  spotless  shield ; 

Attention,  with  fix'd  eye ;  and  Fear, 

That  loves  the  tale  she  shrinks  to  hear ; 

And  gentle  Courtesy ;  and  Faith, 

Unchanged  by  sufferings,  time,  or  death ; 

1  In  the  MS.  the  rest  of  the  passage  stands  as  follows : 

f  ch.  8)1*111  S 

"  Around  him  wait  with  all  their  \ 

(  spells, 

,  .  ,    (  Virtue  only  warms  ; 
Pure  Love  which  \  ,  .  ... 

(  scarce  his  passion  tells  ; 

Mystery,  half  seen  and  half  conceal'd ; 
And  Honour,  with  unspotted  shield  ; 
Attention,  with  fix'd  eye  ;  and  Fear, 
That  loves  the  tale  she  shrinks  to  hear ; 
And  gentle  Courtesy  ;  and  Faith, 
And  Valour  that  despises  death." 


1 6  MARMION. 

And  Valour,  lion-mettled  lord, 
Leaning  upon  his  own  good  sword. 

Well  has  thy  fair  achievement  shown, 
A  worthy  meed  may  thus  be  won ; 
Ytene's1  oaks  —  beneath  whose  shade 
Their  theme  the  merry  minstrels  made, 
Of  Ascapart,  and  Bevis  bold,2 
And  that  Red  King,3  who,  while  of  old, 
Through  Boldrewood  the  chase  he  led, 
By  his  loved  huntsman's  arrow  bled  — 
Ytene's  oaks  have  heard  again 
Renew'd  such  legendary  strain; 

1  The  New  Forest  in  Hampshire,  anciently  so  called. 

2  The  History  of  Bevis  of  Hampton  is  abridged  by  my 
friend,  Mr.  George  Ellis,  with  that  liveliness  which  extracts 
amusement  even  out  of  the  most  rude  and  unpromising  of  our 
old  tales  of  chivalry.     Ascapart,  a  most  important  personage 
in  the  romance,  is  thus  described  in  an  extract  : 

"  This  geaunt  was  mighty  and  strong, 

And  full  thirty  foot  was  long. 

He  was  bristled  like  a  sow  ; 

A  foot  he  had  between  each  brow  ; 

His  lips  were  great,  and  hung  aside ; 

His  eyen  were  hollow,  his  mouth  was  wide 

Lothly  he  was  to  look  on  than, 

And  liker  a  devil  than  a  man. 

His  staff  was  a  young  oak, 

Hard  and  heavy  was  his  stroke." 
—  Specimens  of  Metrical  Romances,  vol.  ii.  p.  136. 

I  am  happy  to  say  that  the  memory  of  Sir  Bevis  is  still 
fragrant  in  his  town  of  Southampton  ;  the  gate  of  which  is 
sentinelled  by  the  effigies  of  that  doughty  knight-errant  and 
his  gigantic  associate. 
8  William  Ruf  us. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FIRST.          17 

For  thou  hast  sung,  how  He  of  Gaul, 

That  Amadis  so  famed  in  hall, 

For  Oriana,  foil'd  in  fight 

The  Necromancer's  felon  might ; 

And  well  in  modern  verse  hast  wove 

Partenopex's  mystic  love : 1 

Hear,  then,  attentive  to  my  lay, 

A  knightly  tale  of  Albion's  elder  day. 

1  Partenopex  de  Blois,  a  poem,  by  W.  S.  Rose,  Esq.,  was 
published  in  1808.  — ED. 


MARMION. 

CANTO   FIRST. 


THE   CASTLE. 
I. 

DAY  set  on  Norham's  castle  steep,1 
And  Tweed's  fair  river,  broad  and  deep, 

And  Cheviot's  mountains  lone : 
The  battled  towers,  the  donjon  keep,2 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 

2  It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  remind  my  readers  that  the 
donjon,  in  its  proper  signification,  means  the  strongest  part  of 
a  feudal  castle  ;  a  high  square  tower,  with  walls  of  tremendous 
thickness,  situated  in  the  centre  of  the  other  buildings,  from 
which,  however,  it  was  usually  detached.    Here,  in  case  of  the 
outward  defences  being  gained,  the  garrison  retreated  to  make 
their  last  stand.     The  donjon  contained  the  great  hall,  and 
principal  rooms  of  state  for  solemn  occasions,  and  also  the 
prison  of  the  fortress  ;  from  which  last  circumstance  we  derive 
the  modern  and  restricted  use  of  the  word  dungeon.     Ducange 
(voce  Dunjo)  conjectures  plausibly  that  the  name  is  derived 
from  these  keeps  being  usually  built  upon  a  hill,  which  in 
Celtic  is  called  Dun.    Borlase  supposes  the  word  came  from  the 
darkness  of  the  apartments  in  these  towers,  which  were  thence 
figuratively  called  Dungeons ;  thus  deriving  the  ancient  word 
from  the  modern  application  of  it. 

19 


20  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

The  loophole  grates,  where  captives  weep, 
The  flanking  walls  that  round  it  sweep, 

In  yellow  lustre  shone.1 
The  warriors  on  the  turrets  high, 
Moving  athwart  the  evening  sky,2 

Seem'd  forms  of  giant  height : 
Their  armour,  as  it  caught  the  rays, 
Flash'd  back  again  the  western  blaze,3 

In  lines  of  dazzling  light. 

II. 

Saint  George's  banner,  broad  and  gay, 
Now  faded,  as  the  fading  ray 

Less  bright,  and  less,  was  flung ; 
The  evening  gale  had  scarce  the  power 
To  wave  it  on  the  Donjon  Tower, 

So  heavily  it  hung. 
The  scouts  had  parted  on  their  search, 

The  Castle  gates  were  barr'd ; 
Above  the  gloomy  portal  arch, 
Timing  his  footsteps  to  a  march, 

The  Warder  kept  his  guard ; 
Low  humming,  as  he  paced  along, 
Some  ancient  Border  gathering  song. 

III. 

A  distant  trampling  sound  he  hears ; 
He  looks  abroad,  and  soon  appears, 

1In  the  MS.  the  first  line  has  "  hoary  keep;'1'1  the  fourth 
"donjon  steep ;  "  the  seventh  "ruddy  lustre." 

a  MS.  —  ' '  Eastern  sky . "        «  MS.  —  ' '  Evening  blaze. ' ' 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  2F 

O'er  Horncliff-hill  a  plump l  of  spears, 

Beneath  a  pennon  gay ; 
A  horseman,  darting  from  the  crowd, 
Like  lightning  from  a  summer  cloud, 
Spurs  on  his  mettled  courser  proud, 

Before  the  dark  array. 
Beneath  the  sable  palisade, 
That  closed  the  Castle  barricade, 

His  bugle-horn  he  blew ; 
The  warder  hasted  from  the  wall, 
And  warn'd  the  Captain  in  the  hall, 

For  well  the  blast  he  knew ; 
And  joyfully  that  knight  did  call, 
To  sewer,  squire,  and  seneschal 

IV. 

"  Now  broach  ye  a  pipe  of  Malvoisie, 
Bring  pasties  of  the  doe, 
And  quickly  make  the  entrance  free, 
And  bid  my  heralds  ready  be, 
And  every  minstrel  sound  his  glee, 

And  all  our  trumpets  blow ; 
And,  from  the  platform,  spare  ye  not 
To  fire  a  noble  salvo  shot;2 

Lord  Marmion  waits  below ! " 
Then  to  the  Castle's  lower  ward 

1  This  word  properly  applies  to  a  flight  of  water-fowl ;  but 
is  applied,  by  analogy,  to  a  body  of  horse. 

"  There  is  a  knight  of  the  North  Country, 
Which  leads  a  lusty  plump  of  spears." 

—  Flodden  Field. 
.  —  "  A  welcome  shot." 


22  MARMION.  Canto  L 

Sped  forty  yeomen  tall, 
The  iron-studded  gates  unbarr'd, 
Raised  the  portcullis'  ponderous  guard, 
The  lofty  palisade  unsparr'd, 

And  let  the  drawbridge  fall. 

V. 

Along  the  bridge  Lord  Marmion  rode, 
Proudly  his  red-roan  charger  trode, 
His  helm  hung  at  the  saddlebow ; 
Well  by  his  visage  you  might  know 
He  was  a  stalworth  knight,  and  keen, 
And  had  in  many  a  battle  been ; 
The  scar  on  his  brown  cheek  reveal'd  * 
A  token  true  of  Bosworth  field ; 
His  eyebrow  dark,  and  eye  of  fire, 
Show'd  spirit  proud,  and  prompt  to  ire ; 
Yet  lines  of  thought  upon  his  cheek 
Did  deep  design  and  counsel  speak. 
His  forehead,  by  his  casque  worn  bare, 
His  thick  moustache,  and  curly  hair, 
Coal-black,  and  grizzled  here  and  there, 

But  more  through  toil  than  age ; 
His  square-turn'd  joints,  and  strength  of  limb, 
Show'd  him  no  carpet  knight  so  trim, 
But  in  close  fight  a  champion  grim, 

In  camps  a  leader  sage.2 

1  MS.  —  "  On  his  brown  cheek  an  azure  scar 
Bore  token  true  of  Bosworth  war." 

a  Marmion  is  to  Deloraine  what  Tom  Jones  is  to  Joseph 
Andrews  :  the  varnish  of  higher  breeding  nowhere  diminishes 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  23 

VI. 

Well  was  he  arm'd  from  head  to  heel, 

In  mail  and  plate  of  Milan  steel  ;  1 

But  his  strong  helm,  of  mighty  cost, 

Was  all  with  burnish'd  gold  emboss'd  ; 

Amid  the  plumage  of  the  crest, 

A  falcon  hover'd  on  her  nest, 

With  wings  outspread,  and  forward  breast  ; 

E'en  such  a  falcon,  on  his  shield, 

Soar'd  sable  in  an  azure  field  : 

The  golden  legend  bore  aright, 

ZSfjo  djecfts  at  nu,  to  toatij  is 


the  prominence  of  the  features  ;  and  the  minion  of  a  king  is  as 
light  and  sinewy  a  cavalier  as  the  Borderer  —  rather  less  fero- 
cious —  more  wicked,  not  less  fit  for  the  hero  of  a  ballad,  and 
much  more  so  for  the  hero  of  a  regular  poem.  —  George  Ellis. 

1  The  artists  of  Milan  were  famous  in  the  middle  ages  for 
their  skill  in  armoury,  as  appears  from  the  following  pas- 
sage, in  which  Froissart  gives  an  account  of  the  preparations 
made  by  Henry,  Earl  of  Hereford,  afterwards  Henry  IV.,  and 
Thomas,  Duke  of  Norfolk,  Earl  Marischal,  for  their  proposed 
combat  in  the  lists  at  Coventry  :  "These  two  lords  made 
ample  provision  of  all  things  necessary  for  the  combat  ;  and 
the  Earl  of  Derby  sent  off  messengers  to  Lombardy,  to  have 
armour  from  Sir  Galeas,  Duke  of  Milan.  The  duke  complied 
with  joy,  and  gave  the  knight,  called  Sir  Francis,  who  had 
brought  the  message,  the  choice  of  all  his  armour  for  the  Earl 
of  Derby.  When  he  had  selected  what  he  wished  for  in 
plated  and  mail  armour,  the  Lord  of  Milan,  out  of  his  abund- 
ant love  for  the  earl,  ordered  four  of  the  best  armourers  in 
Milan  to  accompany  the  knight  to  England,  that  the  Earl  of 
Derby  might  be  more  completely  armed."  —  Johnes's  Froissart, 
vol.  iv.  p.  597. 

8  The  crest  and  motto  of  Marmion  are  borrowed  from  the 
following  story:  Sir  David  de  Lindsay,  first  Earl  of  Crauford, 


24  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

Blue  was  the  charger's  broider'd  rein ; 
Blue  ribbons  deck'd  his  arching  mane ; 
The  knightly  housing's  ample  fold 
Was  velvet  blue,  and  trapp'd  with  gold. 

was,  among  other  gentlemen  of  quality,  attended,  during  a 
visit  to  London,  in  1390,  by  Sir  William  Dalzell,  who  was, 
according  to  my  authority,  Bower,  not  only  excelling  in  wis- 
dom, but  also  of  a  lively  wit.  Chancing  to  be  at  the  court,  he 
there  saw  Sir  Piers  Courtenay,  an  English  knight,  famous  for 
skill  in  tilting,  and  for  the  beauty  of  his  person,  parading  the 
palace,  arrayed  in  a  new  mantle,  bearing  for  device  an  em- 
broidered falcon,  with  this  rhyme  : 

"  I  bear  a  falcon,  fairest  of  flight, 
Who  so  pinches  at  her,  his  death  is  dight 1 

Ingraith."2 

The  Scottish  knight  being  a  wag,  appeared  next  day  in  a 
dress  exactly  similar  to  that  of  Courtenay,  but  bearing  a  mag- 
pie instead  of  the  falcon,  with  a  motto  ingeniously  contrived  to 
rhyme  to  the  vaunting  inscription  of  Sir  Piers  : 

"  I  bear  a  pie  picking  at  a  piece, 
Whoso  picks  at  her,  I  shall  pick  at  his  nese,8 

In  faith." 

This  affront  could  only  be  expiated  by  a  just  with  sharp 
lances.  In  the  course,  Dalzell  left  his  helmet  unlaced,  so  that 
it  gave  way  at  the  touch  of  his  antagonist's  lance,  and  he  thus 
avoided  the  shock  of  the  encounter.  This  happened  twice  :  in 
the  third  encounter,  the  handsome  Courtenay  lost  two  of  his 
front  teeth.  As  the  Englishman  complained  bitterly  of  Dal- 
zell's  fraud  in  not  fastening  his  helmet,  the  Scottishman  agreed 
to  run  six  courses  more,  each  champion  staking  in  the  hand  of 
the  king  two  hundred  pounds,  to  be  forfeited,  if,  on  entering 
the  lists,  any  unequal  advantage  should  be  detected.  This 
being  agreed  to,  the  wily  Scot  demanded  that  Sir  Piers,  in 
addition  to  the  loss  of  his  teeth,  should  consent  to  the  extinc- 

1  Prepared.  •*  Armour.  »Nose. 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  25 

VII. 

Behind  him  rode  two  gallant  squires, 
Of  noble  name,  and  knightly  sires ; 
They  burn'd  the  gilded  spurs  to  claim ; 
For  well  could  each  a  warhorse  tame, 
Could  draw  the  bow,  the  sword  could  sway, 
And  lightly  bear  the  ring  away ; 
Nor  less  with  courteous  precepts  stored, 
Could  dance  in  hall,  and  carve  at  board, 
And  frame  love-ditties  passing  rare, 
And  sing  them  to  a  lady  fair. 

VIII. 

Four  men-at-arms  came  at  their  backs, 

With  halbert,  bill,  and  battle-axe  : 

They  bore  Lord  Marmion's  lance  so  strong,1 

And  led  his  sumpter-mules  along, 

And  ambling  palfrey,  when  at  need 

Him  listed  ease  his  battle-steed. 

The  last  and  trustiest  of  the  four, 

On  high  his  forky  pennon  bore ; 

tion  of  one  of  his  eyes,  he  himself  having  lost  an  eye  in  the 
fight  of  Otterburn.  As  Courtenay  demurred  to  this  equalisa- 
tion of  optical  powers,  Dalzell  demanded  the  forfeit ;  which, 
after  much  altercation,  the  king  appointed  to  be  paid  to  him, 
saying,  he  surpassed  the  English  both  in  wit  and  valour.  This 
must  appear  to  the  reader  a  singular  specimen  of  the  humour 
of  that  time.  I  suspect  the  Jockey  Club  would  have  given  a 
different  decision  from  Henry  IV. 

1  MS.  —  "  One  bore  Lord  Marmion's  lance  so  strong, 
Two  led  his  sumpter-mules  along, 
The  third  his  palfrey,  when  at  need," 


26  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

Like  swallow's  tail,  in  shape  and  hue, 
Flutter'd  the  streamer  glossy  blue, 
Where,  blazon'd  sable,  as  before, 
The  towering  falcon  seem'd  to  soar. 
Last,  twenty  yeomen,  two  and  two, 
In  hosen  black,  and  jerkins  blue, 
With  falcons  broider'd  on  each  breast, 
Attended  on  their  lord's  behest. 
Each,  chosen  for  an  archer  good, 
Knew  hunting-craft  by  lake  or  wood ; 
Each  one  a  six-foot  bow  could  bend, 
And  far  a  cloth-yard  shaft  could  send ; 
Each  held  a  boar-spear  tough  and  strong, 
And  at  their  belts  their  quivers  rung. 
Their  dusty  palfreys,  and  array, 
Show'd  they  had  march'd  a  weary  way. 

IX. 

'Tis  meet  that  I  should  tell  you  now, 
How  fairly  arm'd,  and  order'd  how, 

The  soldiers  of  the  guard, 
With  musket,  pike,  and  morion, 
To  welcome  noble  Marmion, 

Stood  in  the  Castle-yard ; 
Minstrels  and  trumpeters  were  there, 
The  gunner  held  his  linstock  yare, 

For  welcome-shot  prepared : 
Enter'd  the  train,  and  such  a  clang,1 

1  MS.  —  "  And  when  he  enter'd,  such  a  clang, 

As  through  the  echoing  turrets  rang."" 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  27 

As  then  through  all  his  turrets  rang, 
Old  Norham  never  heard. 

X. 

The  guards  their  morrice-pikes  advanced, 

The  trumpets  flourish'd  brave, 
The  cannon  from  the  ramparts  glanced, 

And  thundering  welcome  gave. 
A  blithe  salute,  in  martial  sort, 

The  minstrels  well  might  sound, 
For,  as  Lord  Marmion  cross'd  the  court, 

He  scatter'd  angels  round. 
"  Welcome  to  Norham,  Marmion ! 

Stout  heart,  and  open  hand ! 
Well  dost  thou  brook  thy  gallant  roan, 

Thou  flower  of  English  land ! " 

XL 

Two  pursuivants,  whom  tabarts  deck, 
With  silver  scutcheon  round  their  neck, 

Stood  on  the  steps  of  stone, 
By  which  you  reach  the  donjon  gate, 
And  there,  with  herald  pomp  and  state, 

They  hail'd  Lord  Marinion : 1 

lThe  most  picturesque  of  all  poets,  Homer,  is  frequently 
minute,  to  the  utmost  degree,  in  the  description  of  the  dresses 
and  accoutrements  of  his  personages.  These  particulars,  often 
inconsiderable  in  themselves,  have  the  effect  of  giving  truth 
and  identity  to  the  picture,  and  assist  the  mind  in  realising  the 
scenes,  in  a  degree  which  no  general  description  could  suggest ; 
nor  could  we  so  completely  enter  the  castle  with  Lord  Mar- 
mion, were  any  circumstances  of  the  description  omitted.  — 
British  Critic. 


28  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

They  hail'd  him  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye 

Of  Tamworth  tower  and  town ; 1 
And  he,  their  courtesy  to  requite, 
Gave  them  a  chain  of  twelve  marks'  weight, 

All  as  he  lighted  down. 
"Now,  largesse,  largesse,2  Lord  Marmion, 

Knight  of  the  crest  of  gold  ! 
A  blazon'd  shield,  in  battle  won, 

Ne'er  guarded  heart  so  bold." 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

2  This  was  the  cry  with  which  heralds  and  pursuivants  were 
wont  to  acknowledge  the  bounty  received  from  the  knights. 
Stewart  of  Lorn  distinguishes  a  ballad,  in  which  he  satirises 
the  narrowness  of  James  V.  and  his  courtiers,  by  the  ironical 
burden  — 

"  Lerges,  lerges,  lerges,  hay, 

Lerges  of  this  new-yeir  day. 
First  lerges  of  the  King,  my  chief, 
Quhilk  come  als  quiet  as  a  thief, 

And  in  my  hand  slid  schillingis  tway,8 
To  put  his  lergnes  to  the  preif,4 

For  lerges  of  this  new-yeir  day." 

The  heralds,  like  the  minstrels,  were  a  race  allowed  to  have 
great  claims  upon  the  liberality  of  the  knights,  of  whose  feats 
they  kept  a  record,  and  proclaimed  them  aloud,  as  in  the  text, 
upon  suitable  occasions. 

At  Berwick,  Norham,  and  other  Border  fortresses  of  im- 
portance, pursuivants  usually  resided,  whose  inviolable  char- 
acter rendered  them  the  only  persons  that  could,  with  perfect 
assurance  of  safety,  be  sent  on  necessary  embassies  into  Scot- 
land. This  is  alluded  to  in  stanza  xxi. 

•Two.  4  Proof. 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  29 

XII 

They  marshall'd  him  to  the  Castle-hall, 

Where  the  guests  stood  all  aside, 
And  loudly  flourish'd  the  trumpet-call, 

And  the  heralds  loudly  cried, 
—  "  Boom,  lordings,  room  for  Lord  Marmion, 

With  the  crest  and  helm  of  gold ! 
Full  well  we  know  the  trophies  won 

In  the  lists  at  Cottiswold : 
There,  vainly  Ralph  de  Wilton  strove 

'Gainst  Marmion's  force  to  stand ; 
To  him  he  lost  his  lady-love. 

And  to  the  King  his  land. 
Ourselves  beheld  the  listed  field, 

A  sight  both  sad  and  fair ; 
We  saw  Lord  Marmion  pierce  his  shield,1 

And  saw  his  saddle  bare  ; 
We  saw  the  victor  win  the  crest, 

He  wears  with  worthy  pride  ; 
And  on  the  gibbet-tree,  reversed, 

His  foeman's  scutcheon  tied. 
Place,  nobles,  for  the  Falcon-Knight ! 

Room,  room,  ye  gentles  gay, 
For  him  who  conquer'd  in  the  right, 

Marmion  of  Fontenaye ! " 

XIII. 

Then  stepp'd,  to  meet  that  noble  Lord, 
Sir  Hugh  the  Heron  bold, 

1  MS.  —  "  Cleave  his  shield." 


30  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

Baron  of  Twisell,  and  of  Ford, 

And  Captain  of  the  Hold.1 
He  led  Lord  Marmion  to  the  deas, 

Raised  o'er  the  pavement  high, 
And  placed  him  in  the  upper  place  — 

They  feasted  full  and  high : 
The  whiles  a  Northern  harper  rude 
Chanted  a  rhyme  of  deadly  feud, 
"  How  the  fierce  Thirwalls,  and  Kidleys  all, 
Stout  Willimondswick, 
And  Hardriding  Dick, 

And  Hughie  of  Hawdon,  and  Will  o'  the  Wall, 
Have  set  on  Sir  Albany  Featherstonhaugh, 
And  taken  his  life  at  the  Deadman's-shaw."  2 
Scantly  Lord  Marmion's  ear  could  brook 

The  harper's  barbarous  lay ; 
Yet  much  he  praised  the  pains  he  took, 

And  well  those  pains  did  pay : 
For  lady's  suit,  and  minstrel's  strain, 
By  knight  should  ne'er  be  heard  in  vain. 

1  Were  accuracy  of  any  consequence  in  a  fictitious  narrative, 
this  castellan's  name  ought  to  have  been  William  ;  for  William 
Heron  of  Ford  was  husband  to  the  famous  Lady  Ford,  whose 
siren  charms  are  said  to  have  cost  our  James  IV.  so  dear. 
Moreover,  the  said  William  Heron  was,  at  the  time  supposed, 
a  prisoner  in  Scotland,  being  surrendered  by  Henry  VIII.,  on 
account  of  his  share  in  the  slaughter  of  Sir  Robert  Ker  of  Cess- 
ford.    His  wife,  represented  in  the  text  as  residing  at  the  court 
of  Scotland,  was,  in  fact,  living  in  her  own  castle  at  Ford.  — 
See   Sir  Richard   Heron's   curious    Genealogy  of  the  Heron, 
Family. 

2  The  rest  of  this  old  ballad,  given  as  a  note  in  the  former 
editions  of  Marmion,  may  be  found  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border,  vol.  ii. 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  31 

XIV. 

"  Now,  good  Lord  Marmion,"  Heron  says, 
"  Of  your  fair  courtesy, 
I  pray  you  bide  some  little  space 

In  this  poor  tower  with  me. 
Here  may  you  keep  your  arms  from  rust, 

May  breathe  your  war-horse  well ; 
Seldom  hath  pass'd  a  week  but  giust 

Or  feat  of  arms  befell : 
The  Scots  can  rein  a  mettled  steed ; 

And  love  to  couch  a  spear ;  — 
Saint  George !  a  stirring  life  they  lead, 

That  have  such  neighbours  near. 
Then  stay  with  us  a  little  space, 

Our  northern  wars  to  learn ; 
I  pray  you,  for  your  lady's  grace ! " 

Lord  Marmion's  brow  grew  stern. 

XV. 

The  Captain  mark'd  his  alter'd  look, 

And  gave  a  squire  the  sign ; 
A  mighty  wassell-bowl  he  took, 

And  crown'd  it  high  with  wine. 
"  Now  pledge  me  here,  Lord  Marmion : 

But  first  I  pray  thee  fair,1 
Where  hast  thou  left  that  page  of  thine, 
That  used  to  serve  thy  cup  of  wine, 

Whose  beauty  was  so  rare  ? 

1  MS.  —  "  And  let  me  pray  thee  fair." 


32   ,  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

When  last  in  Kaby  towers  we  met, 

The  boy  I  closely  eyed, 
And  often  mark'd  his  cheeks  were  wet, 

With  tears  he  fain  would  hide : 
His  was  no  rugged  horse-boy's  hand, 
To  burnish  shield  or  sharpen  brand,1 

Or  saddle  battle-steed ; 
But  meeter  seem'd  for  lady  fair, 
To  fan  her  cheek,  or  curl  her  hair, 
Or  through  embroidery,  rich  and  rare, 

The  slender  silk  to  lead : 
His  skin  was  fair,  his  ringlets  gold, 

His  bosom  —  when  he  sigh'd, 
The  russet  doublet's  rugged  fold 

Could  scarce  repel  its  pride ! 
Say,  hast  thou  given  that  lovely  youth 

To  serve  in  lady's  bower  ? 
Or  was  the  gentle  page,  in  sooth, 

A  gentle  paramour  ? " 

XVI. 

Lord  Marmion  ill  could  brook  such  jest ; 2 
He  roll'd  his  kindling  eye, 

1  MS.  —  "To  rub  a  shield,  or  sharp  a  brand." 

2  MS.  —  "  Lord  Marmion  ill  such  jest  could  brook, 

He  roll'd  his  kindling  eye  ; 
Fix'd  on  the  Knight  his  dark  haught  look, 

And  answer'd  stern  and  high  : 
'That  page  thou  did'st  so  closely  eye, 

So  fair  of  hand  and  skin, 
Is  come,  I  ween,  of  lineage  high, 

And  of  thy  lady's  kin. 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  33 

With  pain  his  rising  wrath  suppress'd, 

Yet  made  a  calm  reply : 
"  That  hoy  thou  thought'st  so  goodly  fair, 

He  might  not  brook  the  northern  air. 
More  of  his  fate  if  thou  wouldst  learn, 

I  left  him  sick  in  Lindisfarn : 1 
Enough  of  him.  —  But,  Heron,  say, 
Why  does  thy  lovely  lady  gay 
Disdain  to  grace  the  hall  to-day  ? 
Or  has  that  dame,  so  fair  and  sage, 
Gone  on  some  pious  pilgrimage  ? "  — 
He  spoke  in  covert  scorn,  for  fame 
Whisper'd  light  tales  of  Heron's  dame.2 

XVII. 

TJnmark'd,  at  least  unreck'd,  the  taunt, 

Careless  the  Knight  replied,3 
"  No  hird,  whose  feathers  gaily  flaunt, 

Delights  in  cage  to  bide : 
Norham  is  grim  and  grated  close, 
Hemm'd  in  by  battlement  and  fosse, 

And  many  a  darksome  tower ; 
And  better  loves  my  lady  bright 
To  sit  in  liberty  and  light, 

In  fair  Queen  Margaret's  bower. 

That  youth,  so  like  a  paramour, 

Who  wept  for  shame  and  pride, 
Was  erst,  in  Wilton's  lordly  bower, 

Sir  Ralph  de  Wilton's  bride.'  " 

1  See  note,  canto  II.  stanza  i. 

2 MS.  —  "  Whisper'd  strange  things  of  Heron's  dame." 

8  MS.  —  "  The  Captain  gay  replied." 

3 


34  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

We  hold  our  greyhound  in  our  hand, 

Our  falcon  on  our  glove ; 
But  where  shall  we  find  leash  or  band, 

For  dame  that  loves  to  rove  ? 
Let  the  wild  falcon  soar  her  swing, 
She'll  stoop  when  she  has  tired  her  wing."  — l 

XVIII. 

"  Nay,  if  with  Eoyal  James's  bride 
The  lovely  Lady  Heron  bide, 
Behold  me  here  a  messenger, 
Your  tender  greetings  prompt  to  bear ; 
For,  to  the  Scottish  court  address'd, 
I  journey  at  our  King's  behest, 
And  pray  you,  of  your  grace,  provide 
For  me,  and  mine,  a  trusty  guide. 
I  have  not  ridden  in  Scotland  since 
James  back'd  the  cause  of  that  mock  prince, 
"Warbeck,  that  Flemish  counterfeit, 
Who  on  the  gibbet  paid  the  cheat. 
Then  did  I  march  with  Surrey's  power, 
What  time  we  rased  old  Ayton  tower."  — 2 

1  MS.  —  "  She'll  stoop  again  when  tired  her  wing." 

2  The  story  of  Perkin  Warbeck,  or  Richard,  Duke  of  York, 
is  well  known.      In  1496  he  was  received  honourably  in  Scot- 
land ;  and  James  IV.,  after  conferring  upon  him  in  marriage 
his  own  relation,  the  Lady  Catharine  Gordon,  made  war  on 
England  in  behalf  of  his  pretensions.     To  retaliate  an  invasion 
of  England,  Surrey  advanced  into  Berwickshire  at  the  head  of 
considerable  forces,  but  retreated,  after  taking  the  inconsider- 
able fortress  of  Ayton.     Ford,  in  his  Dramatic  Chronicle  of 
I'erkin  Warbeck,  makes  the  most  of  this  inroad  : 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  35 

XIX. 

"  For  such-like  need,  my  lord,  I  trow, 
Norham  can  find  you  guides  enow ; 
For  here  be  some  have  prick'd  as  far, 
On  Scottish  ground,  as  to  Dunbar ; 
Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale, 
And  driven  the  beeves  of  Lauderdale ; 
Harried  the  wives  of  Greenlaw's  goods, 
And  given  them  light  to  set  their  hoods."  — l 

"  SURREY. 

"Are  all  our  braving  enemies  shrunk  back, 
Hid  in  the  fogges  of  their  distemper 'd  climate, 
Not  daring  to  behold  our  colours  wave 
In  spight  of  this  infected  ayre  ?    Can  they 
Looke  on  the  strength  of  Cundrestine  defac't ; 
The  glorie  of  Heydonhall  devasted  ;  that 
Of  Edington  cast  downe  ;  the  pile  of  Fulden 
Orethrowne  :  And  this,  the  strongest  of  their  forts, 
Old  Ayton  Castle,  yeelded  and  demolished, 
And  yet  not  peepe  abroad  ?    The  Scots  are  bold, 
Hardie  in  battayle,  but  it  seems  the  cause 
They  undertake  considered,  appeares 
Unjoynted  in  the  frame  on't." 

1  The  garrisons  of  the  English  castles  of  Wark,  Norham, 
and  Berwick  were,  as  may  be  easily  supposed,  very  trouble- 
some neighbours  to  Scotland.  Sir  Richard  Maitland  of  Leding- 
ton  wrote  a  poem,  called  The  Blind  Baron's  Comfort,  when 
his  barony  of  Blythe,  in  Lauderdale,  was  harried  by  Rowland 
Foster,  the  English  captain  of  Wark,  with  his  company,  to 
the  number  of  three  hundred  men.  They  spoiled  the  poetical 
knight  of  five  thousand  sheep,  two  hundred  nolt,  thirty  horses 
and  mares  ;  the  whole  furniture  of  his  house  of  Blythe,  worth 
one  hundred  pounds  Scots  (£8  :  6  :  8),  and  everything  else 
that  was  portable.  "This  spoil  was  committed  the  16th  day 


36  MARMION.  Canto  /. 

XX. 

"  Now,  in  good  sooth,"  Lord  Marmion  cried, 
"  Were  I  in  warlike  wise  to  ride, 

A  better  guard  I  would  not  lack, 

Than  your  stout  forayers  at  my  back ; 

But,  as  in  form  of  peace  I  go, 

A  friendly  messenger,  to  know, 

Why  through  all  Scotland,  near  and  far, 

Their  King  is  mustering  troops  for  war, 

The  sight  of  plundering  Border  spears 

Might  justify  suspicious  fears, 

And  deadly  feud,  or  thirst  of  spoil, 

Break  out  in  some  unseemly  broil :  t 

A  herald  were  my  fitting  guide ; 

Or  friar,  sworn  in  peace  to  bide ; 

Or  pardoner,  or  travelling  priest, 

Or  strolling  pilgrim,  at  the  least." 


of  May,  1570  (and  the  said  Sir  Bichard  was  threescore  and 
fourteen  years  of  age,  and  grown  blind),  in  time  of  peace ; 
when  nane  of  that  country  lippened  [expected]  such  a  thing." 
The  Blind  Baron's  Comfort  consists  in  a  string  of  puns  on  the 
word  Blythe,  the  name  of  the  lands  thus  despoiled.  Like  John 
Littlewit,  he  had  "  a  conceit  left  him  in  his  misery  —  a  miser- 
able conceit." 

The  last  line  of  the  text  contains  a  phrase  by  which  the 
Borderers  jocularly  intimated  the  burning  a  house.  When  the 
Maxwells,  in  1685,  burned  the  castle  of  Lochwood,  they  said 
they  did  so  to  give  the  Lady  Johnstone  "  light  to  set  her  hood." 
Nor  was  the  phrase  inapplicable  ;  for,  in  a  letter,  to  which  I 
have  mislaid  the  reference,  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  writes 
to  the  king  and  council,  that  he  dressed  himself  at  midnight, 
at  Warkworth,  by  the  blaze  of  the  neighbouring  villages  burned 
by  the  Scottish  marauders. 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  37 

XXL 

The  Captain  mused  a  little  space, 

And  pass'd  his  hand  across  his  face. 

—  "  Fain  would  I  find  the  guide  you  want, 

But  ill  may  spare  a  pursuivant, 

The  only  men  that  safe  can  ride 

Mine  errands  on  the  Scottish  side : 

And  though  a  bishop  built  this  fort, 

Few  holy  brethren  here  resort ; 

Even  our  good  chaplain,  as  I  ween, 

Since  our  last  siege,  we  have  not  seen : 

The  mass  he  might  not  sing  or  say, 

Upon  one  stinted  meal  a-day ; 

So,  safe  he  sat  in  Durham  aisle, 

And  pray*d  for  our  success  the  while. 

Our  Norham  vicar,  woe  betide, 

Is  all  too  well  in  case  to  ride ; 

The  priest  of  Shoreswood 1  —  he  could  rein 

The  wildest  war-horse  in  your  train ; 

But  then,  no  spearman  in  the  hall 

Will  sooner  swear,  or  stab,  or  brawL 

1  This  churchman  seems  to  have  been  akin  to  Welsh,  the 
vicar  of  St.  Thomas  of  Exeter,  a  leader  among  the  Cornish 
insurgents  in  1549.  "  This  man,"  says  Holinshed,  "  had  many 
good  things  in  him  :  lie  was  of  no  great  stature,  but  well  set, 
and  mightilie  compact.  He  was  a  very  good  wrestler ;  shot 
well,  both  in  the  longbow,  and  also  in  the  crossbow ;  he  han- 
dled his  hand-gun  and  peece  very  well ;  he  was  a  very  good  wood- 
man, and  a  hardie,  and  such  a  one  as  would  not  give  his  head 
for  the  polling  or  his  beard  for  the  washing.  He  was  a  com- 
panion in  any  exercise  of  activitie,  and  of  a  courteous  and 
gentle  behaviour.  He  descended  of  a  good  honest  parentage, 
being  borne  at  Peneverin,  in  Cornwall ;  and  yet,  in  this  rebel- 


38  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

Friar  John  of  Tillmouth  were  the  man  : 
A  blithesome  brother  at  the  can, 
A  welcome  guest  in  hall  and  bower, 
He  knows  each  castle,  town,  and  tower, 
In  which  the  wine  and  ale  is  good, 
'Twixt  Newcastle  and  Holy-Rood. 
But  that  good  man,  as  ill  befalls, 
Hath  seldom  left  our  castle  walls, 
Since,  on  the  vigil  of  St.  Bede, 
In  evil  hour,  he  cross'd  the  Tweed, 
To  teach  Dame  Alison  her  creed. 
Old  Bughtrig  found  him  with  his  wife ; 
And  John,  an  enemy  to  strife, 
Sans  frock  and  hood,  fled  for  his  life. 
The  jealous  churl  hath  deeply  swore, 
That,  if  again  he  venture  o'er, 
He  shall  shrieve  penitent  no  more. 
Little  he  loves  such  risks,  I  know ; 
Yet,  in  your  guard,  perchance  will  go." 

XXII 

Young  Selby,  at  the  fair  hall-board, 
Carved  to  his  uncle  and  that  lord, 
And  reverently  took  up  the  word. 
"  Kind  uncle,  woe  were  we  each  one, 
If  harm  should  hap  to  brother  John. 

lion,  an  arch-captain,  and  a  principal  doer."  —  Vol.  iv.  p.  958, 
4to  edition.  This  model  of  clerical  talents  had  the  misfortune 
to  be  hanged  upon  the  steeple  of  his  own  church."  l 

1  The  reader  needs  hardly  to  be  reminded  of  Ivanhoe. 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  39 

He  is  a  man  of  mirthful  speech, 
Can  many  a  game  and  gambol  teach ; 
Full  well  at  tables  can  he  play, 
And  sweep  at  bowls  the  stake  away. 
None  can  a  lustier  carol  bawl, 
The  needfullest  among  us  all, 
When  time  hangs  heavy  in  the  hall, 
And  snow  comes  thick  at  Christmas  tide, 
And  we  can  neither  hunt,  nor  ride 
A  foray  on  the  Scottish  side. 
The  vow'd  revenge  of  Bughtrig  rude, 
May  end  in  worse  than  loss  of  hood. 
Let  Friar  John,  in  safety,  still 
In  chimney-corner  snore  his  fill, 
Eoast  hissing  crabs,  or  flagons  swill : 
Last  night,  to  Norham  there  came  one, 
Will  better  guide  Lord  Marmion."  — 
"  Nephew,"  quoth  Heron,  "  by  my  fay, 
Well  hast  thou  spoke ;  say  forth  thy  say."  — 


XXIII. 

"  Here  is  a  holy  Palmer  come, 
From  Salem  first,  and  last  from  Home  ; 
One,  that  hath  kiss'd  the  blessed  tomb, 
And  visited  each  holy  shrine, 
In  Araby  and  Palestine ; 
On  hills  of  Armenie  hath  been, 
Where  Noah's  ark  may  yet  be  seen ; 
By  that  Red  Sea,  too,  hath  he  trod, 
Which  parted  at  the  prophet's  rod ; 


40  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

In  Sinai's  wilderness  he  saw 
The  Mount,  where  Israel  heard  the  law, 
'Mid  thunder-dint,  and  flashing  levin, 
And  shadows,  mists,  and  darkness,  given. 
He  shows  Saint  James's  cockle-shell, 
Of  fair  Montserrat,  too,  can  tell ; 

And  of  that  Grot  where  Olives  nod,1 
Where,  darling  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
From  all  the  youth  of  Sicily, 

Saint  Rosalie  2  retired  to  God.8 

1  MS.  —  "  And  of  the  Olives'  shaded  cell." 

2  MS.  —  "  Ketired  to  God  Saint  Kosalie." 

8  Sante  Rosalia  was  of  Palermo,  and  born  of  a  very  noble 
family,  and,  when  very  young,  abhorred  so  much  the  vanities 
of  this  world,  and  avoided  the  converse  of  mankind,  resolving 
to  dedicate  herself  wholly  to  God  Almighty,  that  she,  by  divine 
inspiration,  forsook  her  father's  house,  and  never  was  more 
heard  of,  till  her  body  was  found  in  that  cleft  of  a  rock,  on  that 
almost  inaccessible  mountain,  where  now  the  chapel  is  built ; 
and  they  affirm  she  was  carried  up  there  by  the  hands  of 
angels ;  for  that  place  was  not  formerly  so  accessible  (as  now 
it  is)  in  the  days  of  the  Saint ;  and  even  now  it  is  a  very  bad, 
and  steepy,  and  breakneck  way.  In  this  frightful  place,  this 
holy  woman  lived  a  great  many  years,  feeding  only  on  what 
she  found  growing  on  that  barren  mountain,  and  creeping  into 
a  narrow  and  dreadful  cleft  in  a  rock,  which  was  always  drop- 
ping wet,  and  was  her  place  of  retirement,  as  well  as  prayer; 
having  worn  out  even  the  rock  with  her  knees,  in  a  certain 
place,  which  is  now  open'd  on  purpose  to  show  it  to  those  who 
come  here.  This  chapel  is  very  richly  adorn'd ;  and  on  the 
spot  where  the  Saint's  dead  body  was  discover'd,  which  is  just 
beneath  the  hole  in  the  rock,  which  is  open'd  on  purpose,  as  I 
said,  there  is  a  very  fine  statue  of  marble,  representing  her  in 
a  lying  posture,  railed  in  all  about  with  fine  iron  and  brass 
work  ;  and  the  altar,  on  which  they  say  mass,  is  built  just  over 
it.  —  Voyage  to  Sicily  and  Malta,  by  Mr.  John  Dryden  (son  to 
the  poet),  p.  107. 


Canto  7.  THE   CASTLE.  41 

XXIV.  ' 

"  To  stout  Saint  George  of  Norwich  merry, 
Saint  Thomas,  too,  of  Canterbury, 
Cuthbert  of  Durham  and  Saint  Bede 
For  his  sins'  pardon  hath  he  pray'd. 
He  knows  the  passes  of  the  North, 
And  seeks  far  shrines  beyond  the  Forth ; 
Little  he  eats,  and  long  will  wake, 
And  drinks  but  of  the  stream  or  lake. 
This  were  a  guide  o'er  moor  and  dale ; 
But,  when  our  John  hath  quaff  d  his  ale, 
As  little  as  the  wind  that  blows, 
And  warms  itself  against  his  nose,1 
Kens  he,  or  cares,  which  way  he  goes."  — 2 

XXV. 

«'  Gramercy ! "  quoth  Lord  Marmion, 

•"  Full  loath  were  I,  that  Friar  John, 

That  venerable  man,  for  me, 

Were  placed  in  fear  or  jeopardy. 

If  this  same  Palmer  will  me  lead 

From  hence  to  Holy-Kood, 
Like  his  good  saint,  I'll  pay  his  meed, 
Instead  of  cockle-shell,  or  bead, 
With  angels  fair  and  good. 

1  MS.  —  "  And  with  metheglin  warm'd  his  nose, 

As  little  as,"  etc. 

2  This  Poem  has  f aults  of  too  great  magnitude  to  be  passed 
without  notice.     There  is  a  debasing  lowness  and  vulgarity  in 
some  passages,  which  we  think  must  be  offensive  to  every 


42  MARMION.  Canto  7. 

I  love  such  holy  ramblers ;  still 
They  know  to  charm  a  weary  hill, 

With  song,  romance,  or  lay : 
Some  jovial  tale,  or  glee,  or  jest, 
Some  lying  legend  at  the  least, 

They  bring  to  cheer  the  way."  — 

XXVI. 

"  Ah !  noble  sir,"  young  Selby  said, 

And  finger  on  his  lip  he  laid, 
"  This  man  knows  much,  perchance  e'en  more 

Than  he  could  learn  by  holy  lore. 

Still  to  himself  he's  muttering, 

And  shrinks  as  at  some  unseen  thing. 

Last  night  we  listen'd  at  his  cell ; 

Strange  sounds  we  heard,  and,  sooth  to  tell, 

He  murmur'd  on  till  morn,  howe'er 

No  living  mortal  could  be  near. 

Sometimes  I  thought  I  heard  it  plain, 

As  other  voices  spoke  again. 

reader  of  delicacy,  and  which  are  not,  for  the  most  part,  re- 
deemed by  any  vigour  or  picturesque  effect.  The  venison 
pasties,  we  think,  are  of  this  description ;  and  this  commemo- 
ration of  Sir  Hugh  Heron's  troopers,  who 

"Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale,"  etc. 

The  long  account  of  Friar  John,  though  not  without  merit, 
offends  in  the  same  sort,  nor  can  we  easily  conceive  how  any 
one  could  venture,  in  a  serious  poem,  to  speak  of — 

"...    the  wind  that  blows, 
And  warms  itself  against  his  nose." 

—  Jeffrey. 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  43 

I  cannot  tell  —  I  like  it  not  — 

Friar  John  hath  told  us  it  is  wrote, 

No  conscience  clear,  and  void  of  wrong, 

Can  rest  awake,  and  pray  so  long. 

Himself  still  sleeps  before  his  beads 

Have  mark'd  ten  aves,  and  two  creeds."  — 1 

XXVII. 

—  "  Let  pass,"  quoth  Marmion ;  "  by  my  fay, 
This  man  shall  guide  me  on  my  way, 
Although  the  great  arch-fiend  and  he 
Had  sworn  themselves  of  company. 
So  please  you,  gentle  youth,  to  call 
This  Palmer2  to  the  Castle-halL" 
The  summon'd  Palmer  came  in  place ; 
His  sable  cowl  o'erhung  his  face ; 


1  Friar  John  understood  the  soporific  virtue  of  his  beads  and 
breviary,  as  well  as  his  namesake  in  Rabelais.     "  But  Gargan- 
tua  could  not  sleep  by  any  means,  on  which  side  soever  he 
turned  himself.     Whereupon  the  monk  said  to  him,  '  I  never 
sleep  soundly  but  when  I  am  at  sermon  or  prayers :  Let  us 
therefore  begin,  you  and  I,  the  seven  penitential  psalms,  to  try 
whether  you  shall  not  quickly  fall  asleep. '    The  conceit  pleased 
Gargantua  very  well ;  and,  beginning  the  first  of  these  psalms, 
as  soon  as  they  came  to  Beati  quorum,  they  fell  asleep,  both  the 
one  and  the  other." 

2  A  Palmer,  opposed  to  a  Pilgrim,  was  one  who  made  it  his 
sole  business  to  visit  different  holy  shrines ;  travelling  inces- 
santly, and  subsisting  by  charity  :  whereas  the  Pilgrim  retired 
to  his  usual  home  and  occupations,  when  he  had  paid  his  de- 
votions at  the  particular  spot  which  was  the  object  of  his  pil- 
grimage.    The  Palmers  seem  to  have  been  the  Quaestionarii  of 
the  ancient  Scottish  canons  1242  and  1296.     There  is  in  the 


44  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

In  his  black  mantle  was  he  clad, 
With  Peter's  keys,  in  cloth  of  red, 

On  his  broad  shoulders  wrought ; 
The  scallop  shell  his  cap  did  deck ; 
The  crucifix  around  his  neck 

Was  from  Loretto  brought ; 
His  sandals  were  with  travel  tore, 
Staff,  budget,  bottle,  scrip,  he  wore ; 
The  faded  palm-branch  in  his  hand 
Show'd  pilgrim  from  the  Holy  Land.1 

XXVIII. 

When  as  the  Palmer  came  in  hall, 

Nor  lord,  nor  knight,  was  there  more  tall, 

Or  had  a  statelier  step  withal, 

Or  look'd  more  high  and  keen ; 
For  no  saluting  did  he  wait, 

Bannatyne  MS.  a  burlesque  account  of  two  such  persons, 
entitled  Simmy  and  His  Brother.  Their  accoutrements  are 
thus  ludicrously  described  (I  discard  the  ancient  spelling) : 

"  Syne  shaped  them  up,  to  loup  on  leas, 

Two  tabards  of  the  tartan  ; 
They  counted  nought  what  their  clouts  were 

When  sew'd  them  on,  in  certain. 
Syne  clampit  up  St.  Peter's  keys, 

Made  of  an  old  red  gartane  ; 
St.  James's  shells,  on  t'other  side,  shews 

As  pretty  as  a  partane 

Toe, 
On  Symmye  and  his  brother." 

1  The  first  presentment  of  the  mysterious  Palmer  is  lauda- 
ble. —  Jeffrey. 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  45 

But  strode  across  the  hall  of  state, 
And  fronted  Marmion  where  he  sate,1 

As  he  his  peer  had  been. 
But  his  gaunt  frame  was  worn  with  toil ; 
His  cheek  was  sunk,  alas  the  while ! 
And  when  he  struggled  at  a  smile, 

His  eye  look'd  haggard  wild : 
Poor  wretch !  the  mother  that  him  bare, 
If  she  had  been  in  presence  there, 
In  his  wan  face,  and  sun-burn'd  hair, 

She  had  not  known  her  child. 
Danger,  long  travel,  want,  or  woe, 
Soon  change  the  form  that  best  we  know  — 
For  deadly  fear  can  time  outgo, 

And  blanch  at  once  the  hair ; 
Hard  toil  can  roughen  form  and  face,2 
And  want  can  quench  the  eye's  bright  grace, 
Nor  does  old  age  a  wrinkle  trace 

More  deeply  than  despair. 
Happy  whom  none  of  these  befall,3 
But  this  poor  Palmer  knew  them  all 

XXIX. 

Lord  Marmion  then  his  boon  did  ask ; 
The  Palmer  took  on  him  the  task, 

1  MS.  —  "  And  near  Lord  Marmion  took  his  seat." 

2  MS.  —  "  Hard  toil  can  alter  form  and  face, 

f  roughen  youthful  grace, 
And  want  can  J  quench  > 

(  dim       j  the  eyes  of  grace.1* 
8 MS.  —  "  Happy  whom  none  such  woes  befall." 


46  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

So  he  would  march  with  morning  tide,1 
To  Scottish  court  to  be  his  guide. 

"  But  I  have  solemn  vows  to  pay, 
And  may  not  linger  by  the  way, 

To  fair  St.  Andrews  bound, 
Within  the  ocean-cave  to  pray, 
Where  good  Saint  Eule  his  holy  lay, 
From  midnight  to  the  dawn  of  day, 

Sung  to  the  billows'  sound ; 2 
Thence  to  Saint  Fillan's  blessed  well, 
Whose  spring  can  frenzied  dreams  dispel, 

And  the  crazed  brain  restore : 3 

1  MS.  —  "  So  he  would  ride  with  morning  tide." 

2  St.  Regulus   (Scottice,   St.   Kule),  a  monk  of  Patrse,  in 
Achaia,  warned  by  a  vision,  is  said,  A.  D.  370,  to  have  sailed 
westward,  until  he  landed  at  St.  Andrews,  in  Scotland,  where 
he  founded  a  chapel  and  tower.     The  latter  is  still  standing ; 
and,  though  we  may  doubt  the  precise  date  of  its  foundation, 
is  certainly  one  of  the  most  ancient  edifices  in  Scotland.     A 
cave,  nearly  fronting  the  ruinous  castle  of  the  Archbishops  of 
St.  Andrews,  bears  the  name  of  this  religious  person.     It  is 
difficult  of  access  ;  and  the  rock  in  which  it  is  hewed  is  washed 
by  the  German  Ocean.     It  is  nearly  round,  about  ten  feet  in 
diameter,  and  the  same  in  height.     On  one  side  is  a  sort  of 
stone  altar  ;  on  the  other  an  aperture  into  an  inner  den,  where 
the  miserable  ascetic,  who  inhabited  this  dwelling,  probably 
slept.     At  full  tide,  egress  and  regress  are  hardly  practicable. 
As  Kegulus  first  colonised  the  metropolitan  see  of  Scotland, 
and  converted  the  inhabitants  in  the  vicinity,  he  has  some 
reason  to  complain  that  the  ancient  name  of  Killrule  (Cella 
Reguli)  should  have  been  superseded,  even  in  favour  of  the 
tutelar  saint  of  Scotland.     The  reason  of  the  change  was,  that 
St.  Rule  is  said  to  have  brought  to  Scotland  the  relics  of  St. 
Andrew. 

8  St.  Fillan  was  a  Scottish  saint  of  some  reputation.     Al- 
though popery  is,  with  us,  matter  of   abomination,  yet  the 


Canto  I.  THE   CASTLE.  47 

Saint  Mary  grant,  that  cave  or  spring 
Could  back  to  peace  my  bosom  bring, 
Or  bid  it  throb  no  more ! " 


XXX. 

And  now  the  midnight  draught  of  sleep, 
Where  wine  and  spices  richly  steep, 
In  massive  bowl  of  silver  deep, 

The  page  presents  on  knee. 
Lord  Marmion  drank  a  fair  good  rest, 
The  Captain  pledged  his  noble  guest, 
The  cup  went  through  among  the  rest,1 

Who  drain'd  it  merrily ; 
Alone  the  Palmer  pass'd  it  by, 
Though  Selby  press'd  him  courteously. 
This  was  a  sign  the  feast  was  o'er ; 
It  hush'd  the  merry  wassel  roar,2 

The  minstrels  ceased  to  sound. 
Soon  in  the  castle  nought  was  heard, 
But  the  slow  footstep  of  the  guard, 

Pacing  his  sober  round. 

common  people  still  retain  some  of  the  superstitions  connected 
with  it.  There  are  in  Perthshire  several  wells  and  springs 
dedicated  to  St.  Fillan,  which  are  still  places  of  pilgrimage 
and  offerings,  even  among  the  Protestants.  They  are  held 
powerful  in  cases  of  madness ;  and,  in  some  of  very  late 
occurrence,  lunatics  have  been  left  all  night  bound  to  the  holy 
stone,  in  confidence  that  the  saint  would  cure  and  unloose 
them  before  morning.  See  various  notes  to  the  Minstrelsy  of 
the  Scottish  Border. 

1  MS.  —  "  The  cup  pass'd  round  among  the  rest." 
3 MS.  —  "Soon  died  the  merry  wassel  roar." 


48  MARMION.  Canto  I. 

XXXI. 

With  early  dawn  Lord  Marmion  rose : 

And  first  the  chapel  doors  unclose ; 

Then,  after  morning  rites  were  done, 

(A  hasty  mass  from  Friar  John,) 1 

And  knight  and  squire  had  broke  their  fast, 

On  rich  substantial  repast, 

Lord  Marmion's  bugles  blew  to  horse  : 

Then  came  the  stirrup-cup  in  course : 

Between  the  Baron  and  his  host, 

No  point  of  courtesy  was  lost ; 

High  thanks  were  by  Lord  Marmion  paid, 

Solemn  excuse  the  Captain  made, 

Till,  filing  from  the  gate,  had  pass'd 

That  noble  train,  their  Lord  the  last. 

Then  loudly  rung  the  trumpet  call ; 

Thunder' d  the  cannon  from  the  wall, 

And  shook  the  Scottish  shore ; 
Around  the  castle  eddied  slow, 
Volumes  of  smoke  as  white  as  snow, 

And  hid  its  turrets  hoar ; 
Till  they  roll'd  forth  upon  the  air,2 
And  met  the  river  breezes  there, 
Which  gave  again  the  prospect  fair. 

1  In  Catholic  countries,  in  order  to  reconcile  the  pleasures 
of  the  great  with  the  observances  of  religion,  it  was  common, 
when  a  party  was  bent  for  the  chase,  to  celebrate  mass, 
abridged  and  maimed  of  its  rites,  called  a  hunting-mass,  the 
brevity  of  which  was  designed  to  correspond  with  the  impa- 
tience of  the  audience.  —  Note  to  The  Abbot.  New  Edit. 

2 MS.  —  "  Slow  they  roll'd  forth  upon  the  air." 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  SECOND. 


To  the  Rev.  John  Marriott,  A.  M. l 

Ashestiel,  Ettrick  Forest. 
THE  scenes  are  desert  now,  and  bare, 
"Where  flourish'd  once  a  forest  fair,2 
When  these  waste  glens  with  copse  were  lined, 
And  peopled  with  the  hart  and  hind. 
Yon  Thorn  —  perchance  whose  prickly  spears 
Have  fenced  him  for  three  hundred  years, 
While  fell  around  his  green  compeers  — 
Yon  lonely  Thorn,  would  he  could  tell 
The  changes  of  his  parent  dell,3 

1  See  a  note  to  the  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  iv. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

8  The  second  epistle  opens  again  with  "  chance  and  change  ; " 
but  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  mode  in  which  it  is  introduced 
is  new  and  poetical.  The  comparison  of  Ettrick  Forest,  now 
open  and  naked,  with  the  state  in  which  it  once  was  —  covered 
with  wood,  the  favourite  resort  of  the  royal  hunt,  and  the 
refuge  of  daring  outlaws  —  leads  the  poet  to  imagine  an  ancient 
thorn  gifted  with  the  powers  of  reason,  and  relating  the  various 
scenes  which  it  has  witnessed  during  a  period  of  three  hun- 
dred years.  A  melancholy  train  of  fancy  is  naturally  encour- 
aged by  the  idea.  —  Monthly  Review. 
4  49 


So  MARMION. 

Since  he,  so  gray  and  stubborn  now, 
Waved  in  each  breeze  a  sapling  bough ; 
Would  he  could  tell  how  deep  the  shade 
A  thousand  mingled  branches  made  ; 
How  broad  the  shadows  of  the  oak, 
How  clung  the  rowan 1  to  the  rock, 
And  through  the  foliage  show'd  his  head, 
With  narrow  leaves  and  berries  red ; 
What  pines  on  every  mountain  sprung, 
O'er  every  dell  what  birches  hung, 
In  every  breeze  what  aspens  shook, 
What  alders  shaded  every  brook ! 

"  Here,  in  my  shade,"  methinks  he'd  say, 
a  The  mighty  stag  at  noon-tide  lay : 
The  wolf  I've  seen,  a  fiercer  game, 
(The  neighbouring  dingle  bears  his  name,) 
With  lurching  step  around  me  prowl, 
And  stop,  against  the  moon  to  howl ; 
The  mountain-boar,  on  battle  set, 
His  tusks  upon  my  stem  would  whet ; 
While  doe,  and  roe,  and  red-deer  good, 
Have  bounded  by,  through  gay  green-wood. 
Then  oft,  from  Newark's  2  riven  tower, 
Sallied  a  Scottish  monarch's  power : 
A  thousand  vassals  muster'd  round, 
With  horse,  and  hawk,  and  horn,  and  hound ; 

1  Mountain-ash. 

MS.  —  "  How  broad  the  ash  his  shadows  flung, 
How  to  the  rock  the  rowan  clung." 

2  See  Notes  to  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   SECOND.        51 

And  I  might  see  the  youth  intent, 
Guard  every  pass  with  crossbow  bent ; 
And  through  the  brake  the  rangers  stalk, 
And  falc'ners  hold  the  ready  hawk ; 
And  foresters,  in  green-wood  trim, 
Lead  in  the  leash  the  gazehounds  grim, 
Attentive,  as  the  bratchet's l  bay 
From  the  dark  covert  drove  the  prey, 
To  slip  them  as  he  broke  away. 
The  startled  quarry  bounds  amain, 
As  fast  the  gallant  greyhounds  strain ; 
Whistles  the  arrow  from  the  bow, 
Answers  the  harquebuss  below ; 
While  all  the  rocking  hills  reply, 
To  hoof-clang,  hound,  and  hunters's  cry, 
And  bugles  ringing  lightsomely." 

Of  such  proud  huntings,  many  tales 
Yet  linger  in  our  lonely  dales, 
Up  pathless  Ettrick  and  on  Yarrow, 
Where  erst  the  outlaw  drew  his  arrow.2 
But  not  more  blithe  that  silvan  court, 
Than  we  have  been  at  humbler  sport ; 
Though  small  our  pomp,  and  mean  our  game, 
Our  mirth,  dear  Marriott,  was  the  sama 

1  Slowhound. 

2  The  Tale  of  the  Outlaw  Murray,  who  held  out  Newark 
Castle  and  Ettrick  Forest  against  the  king,  may  be  found  in 
the  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  i.     In  the  Macfarlane  MS.,  among 
other  causes  of  James  the  Fifth's  charter  to  the  burgh  of  Sel- 
kirk, is  mentioned,  that  the  citizens  assisted  him  to  suppress 
this  dangerous  outlaw. 


52  MARMION. 

Kemember'st  thou  my  greyhounds  true  ? 
O'er  holt  or  hill  there  never  flew, 
From  slip  or  leash  there  never  sprang, 
More  fleet  of  foot,  or  sure  of  fang. 
Nor  dull,  between  each  merry  chase, 
Pass'd  by  the  intermitted  space ; 
For  we  had  fair  resource  in  store, 
In  Classic  and  in  Gothic  lore : 
We  mark'd  each  memorable  scene, 
And  held  poetic  talk  between ; 
Nor  hill,  nor  brook,  we  paced  along, 
But  had  its  legend  or  its  song. 
All  silent  now  —  for  now  are  still 
Thy  bowers,  untenanted  Bowhill ! 1 
No  longer,  from  thy  mountains  dun, 
The  yeoman  hears  the  well-known  gun, 
And  while  his  honest  heart  glows  warm, 
At  thought  of  his  paternal  farm, 
Eound  to  his  mates  a  brimmer  fills, 
And  drinks,  «  The  Chieftain  of  the  Hills ! " 
No  fairy  forms,  in  Yarrow's  bowers, 
Trip  o'er  the  walks,  or  tend  the  flowers, 
Fair  as  the  elves  whom  Janet  saw 
By  moonlight  dance  on  Carterhaugh ; 
No  youthful  Baron's  left  to  grace 
The  Forest-Sheriffs  lonely  chase, 
And  ape,  in  manly  step  and  tone, 
The  majesty  of  Oberon : 2 

1 A  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch  on  the  Yarrow,  in  Ettrick 
Forest.     See  Notes  to  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

2  Mr.  Marriott  was  governor  to  the  young  nobleman  here 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   SECOND.        53 

And  she  is  gone,  whose  lovely  face 
Is  but  her  least  and  lowest  grace ; l 
Though  if  to  Sylphid  Queen  'twere  given, 
To  show  our  earth  the  charms  of  Heaven, 
She  could  not  glide  along  the  air, 
With  form  more  light,  or  face  more  fair. 
No  more  the  widow's  deafen'd  ear 
Grows  quick  that  lady's  step  to  hear : 
At  noontide  she  expects  her  not, 
Nor  busies  her  to  trim  the  cot ; 
Pensive  she  turns  her  humming  wheel, 
Or  pensive  cooks  her  orphans'  meal ; 
Yet  blesses,  ere  she  deals  their  bread, 
The  gentle  hand  by  which  they're  fed. 

From  Yair,  —  which  hills  so  closely  bind, 
Scarce  can  the  Tweed  his  passage  find, 
Though  much  he  fret,  and  chafe,  and  toil, 
Till  all  his  eddying  currents  boil,  — 
Her  long-descended  lord  2  is  gone, 
And  left  us  by  the  stream  alone. 
And  much  I  miss  those  sportive  boys,8 
Companions  of  my  mountain  joys, 

alluded  to,  George  Henry,  Lord  Scott,  son  to  Charles,  Earl  of 
Dalkeith  (afterward  Duke  of  Buccleuch  and  Queensberry), 
who  died  early  in  1808. 

1  The  four  next  lines  on  Harriet,  Countess  of  Dalkeith, 
afterward  Duchess  of  Buccleuch,  were  not  in  the  original  MS. 

2 The  late  Alexander  Pringle,  Esq.,  of  Whytbank  —  whose 
beautiful  seat  of  the  Yair  stands  on  the  Tweed,  about  two 
miles  below  Ashestiel,  the  then  residence  of  the  poet. 

8  The  sons  of  Mr.  Pringle  of  Whytbank. 


54  MARMION. 

Just  at  the  age  'twixt  boy  and  youth, 
When  thought  is  speech,  and  speech  is  truth. 
Close  to  my  side,  with  what  delight 
They  press'd  to  hear  of  Wallace  wight, 
When,  pointing  to  his  airy  mound, 
I  call'd  his  ramparts  holy  ground ! 1 
Kindled  their  brows  to  hear  me  speak ; 
And  I  have  smiled,  to  feel  my  cheek, 
Despite  the  difference  of  our  years, 
Eeturn  again  the  glow. of  theirs. 
Ah,  happy  boys !  such  feelings  pure, 
They  will  not,  cannot,  long  endure ; 
Condemn'd  to  stem  the  world's  rude  tide, 
You  may  not  linger  by  the  side ; 
For  Fate  shall  thrust  you  from  the  shore, 
And  passion  ply  the  sail  and  oar.2 
Yet  cherish  the  remembrance  still, 
Of  the  lone  mountain,  and  the  rill ; 
For  trust,  dear  boys,  the  time  will  come, 
When  fiercer  transport  shall  be  dumb, 
And  you  will  think  right  frequently, 
But,  well  I  hope,  without  a  sigh, 
On  the  free  hours  that  we  have  spent, 
Together,  on  the  brown  hill's  bent. 

When,  musing  on  companions  gone, 
We  doubly  feel  ourselves  alone, 
Something,  my  friend,  we  yet  may  gain, 
There  is  a  pleasure  in  this  pain : 

1  There  is,  on  a  high  mountainous  ridge  above  the  farm  of 
Ashestiel,  a  fosse  called  Wallace's  Trench. 

2 MS.  —  "  And  youth  shall  ply  the  sail  and  oar." 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   SECOND.       55 

It  soothes  the  love  of  lonely  rest, 

Deep  in  each  gentler  heart  impress'd. 

Tis  silent  amid  worldly  toils, 

And  stifled  soon  hy  mental  broils ; 

But,  in  a  bosom  thus  prepared, 

Its  still  small  voice  is  often  heard, 

Whispering  a  mingled  sentiment, 

'Twixt  resignation  and  content. 

Oft  in  my  mind  such  thoughts  awake, 

By  lone  Saint  Mary's  silent  lake ; l 

Thou  know'st  it  well,  —  nor  fen,  nor  sedge, 

Pollute  the  pure  lake's  crystal  edge ; 

Abrupt  and  sheer,  the  mountains  sink 

At  once  upon  the  level  brink ; 

1  This  beautiful  sheet  of  water  forms  the  reservoir  from  which 
the  Yarrow  takes  its  source.  It  is  connected  with  a  smaller 
lake,  called  the  Loch  of  the  Lowes,  and  surrounded  by  moun- 
tains. In  the  winter  it  is  still  frequented  by  flights  of  wild 
swans ;  hence  my  friend  Mr.  Wordsworth's  lines : 

"The  swan  on  sweet  St.  Mary's  lake 
Floats  double,  swan  and  shadow." 

Near  the  lower  extremity  of  the  lake  are  the  rums  of  Dry- 
hope  Tower,  the  birthplace  of  Mary  Scott,  daughter  of  Philip 
Scott  of  Dryhope,  and  famous  by  the  traditional  name  of  the 
Flower  of  Yarrow.  She  was  married  to  Walter  Scott  of  Harden, 
no  less  renowned  for  his  depredations,  than  his  bride  for  her 
beauty.  Her  romantic  appellation  was,  in  latter  days,  with, 
equal  justice,  conferred  on  Miss  Mary  Lilias  Scott,  the  last  of 
the  elder  branch  of  the  Harden  family.  The  author  well  re- 
members the  talent  and  spirit  of  the  latter  Flower  of  Yarrow, 
though  age  had  then  injured  the  charms  which  procured  her 
the  name.  The  words  usually  sung  to  the  air  of  "  Tweedside," 
beginning,  "What  beauties  does  Flora  disclose,"  were  com- 
posed in  her  honour. 


56  MARMION. 

And  just  a  trace  of  silver  sand  l 

Marks  where  the  water  meets  the  land. 

Far  in  the  mirror,  bright  and  blue, 

Each  hill's  huge  outline  you  may  view  ;  2 

Shaggy  with  heath,  but  lonely  bare, 

Nor  tree,  nor  bush,  nor  brake,  is  there, 

Save  where,  of  land,  yon  slender  line 

Bears  thwart  the  lake  the  scatter'd  pine. 

Yet  even  this  nakedness  has  power, 

And  aids  the  feeling  of  the  hour  : 

Nor  thicket,  dell,  nor  copse  you  spy, 

Where  living  thing  conceal'd  might  lie  ; 

Nor  point,  retiring,  hides  a  dell, 

Where  swain,  or  woodman  lone,  might  dwell  ; 

There's  nothing  left  to  fancy's  guess, 

You  see  that  all  is  loneliness  : 

And  silence  aids  —  though  the  steep  hills 

Send  to  the  lake  a  thousand  rills  ; 

In  summer  tide,  so  soft  they  weep, 

The  sound  but  lulls  the  ear  asleep  ; 

Your  horse's  hoof-tread  sounds  too  rude, 

So  stilly  is  the  solitude. 

Nought  living  meets  the  eye  or  ear, 
But  well  I  ween  the  dead  are  near  ; 


1  MS.  —  "  At  once  upon  the  1  Sl..       I  brink  ; 
And  just  a  line  of  pebbly  sand." 


,  Uge 
bare 

3  MS.  —  "  Far  traced  upon  the  lake  you  view. 


The  hills'     ,         1  sides  and  sombre  hue." 
bare  > 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   SECOND.        57 

For  though,  in  feudal  strife,  a  foe 
Hath  laid  Our  Lady's  chapel  low,1 
Yet  still,  beneath  the  hallowM  soil, 
The  peasant  rests  him  from  his  toil, 
And,  dying,  bids  his  bones  be  laid, 
Where  erst  his  simple  fathers  pray'd. 

If  age  had  tamed  the  passions'  strife,2 
And  fate  had  cut  my  ties  to  life, 
Here,  have  I  thought,  'twere  sweet  to  dwell, 
And  rear  again  the  chaplain's  cell, 
Like  that  same  peaceful  hermitage, 
Where  Milton  long'd  to  spend  his  age.3 

1  The  chapel  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes  (de  lacutnis)  was  situ- 
ated on  the  eastern  side  of  the  lake,  to  which  it  gives  name.     It 
was  injured  by  the  clan  of  Scott,  in  a  feud  with  the  Cranstouns ; 
but  continued  to  be  a  place  of  worship  during  the  seventeenth 
century.     The  vestiges  of  the  building  can  now  scarcely  be 
traced  ;  but  the  burial-ground  is  still  used  as  a  cemetery.     A 
funeral,  in  a  spot  so  very  retired,  has  an  uncommonly  striking 
effect.    The  vestiges  of  the  chaplain's  house  are  yet  visible. 
Being  in  a  high  situation,  it  commanded  a  full  view  of  the  lake, 
with  the  opposite  mountain  of  Bourhope,  belonging,  with  the 
lake  itself,  to  Lord  Napier.     On  the  left  hand  is  the  tower  of 
Dryhope,  mentioned  in  a  preceding  note. 

2  A  few  of  the  lines  which  follow  breathe  as  true  a  spirit 
of  peace  and  repose  as  even  the  simple  strains  of  our  venerable 
Walton. — Monthly  Review. 

9  And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 
Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage, 
The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  cell, 
Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell 
Of  every  star  that  heaven  doth  show, 
And  every  herb  that  sips  the  dew ; 


58  MARMION. 

'Twere  sweet  to  mark  the  setting  day, 

On  Bourhope's  lonely  top  decay ; 

And,  as  it  faint  and  feeble  died 

On  the  broad  lake,  and  mountain's  side,. 

To  say,  "  Thus  pleasures  fade  away ; 

Youth,  talents,  beauty,  thus  decay, 

And  leave  us  dark,  forlorn,  and  gray ; " 

Then  gaze  on  Dryhope's  ruin'd  tower, 

And  think  on  Yarrow's  faded  Flower : 

And  when  the  mountain-sound  I  heard, 

Which  bids  us  be  for  storm  prepared, 

The  distant  rustling  of  his  wings, 

As  up  his  force  the  Tempest  brings, 

Twere  sweet,  ere  yet  his  terrors  rave, 

To  sit  upon  the  Wizard's  grave ; 

That  Wizard  Priest's,  whose  bones  are  thrust, 

From  company  of  holy  dust;1 

On  which  no  sunbeam  ever  shines  — 

(So  superstition's  creed  divines)  — 


Till  old  experience  do  attain 

To  something  like  prophetic  strain. 

—  II  Penseroso. 

1  At  one  corner  of  the  burial-ground  of  the  demolished  chapel, 
but  without  its  precincts,  is  a  small  mound,  called  BinramSa 
Corse,  where  tradition  deposits  the  remains  of  a  necromantic 
priest,  the  former  tenant  of  the  chaplainry.  His  story  much 
resembles  that  of  Ambrosio  in  The  Monk,  and  has  been 
made  the  theme  of  a  ballad,  by  my  friend,  Mr.  James  Hogg, 
more  poetically  designed  The  Ettrick  Shepherd.  To  his  volume, 
entitled  The  Mountain  Bard,  which  contains  this,  and  many 
other  legendary  stories  and  ballads  of  great  merit,  I  refer  the 
curious  reader. 


INTRODUCTION  TO   CANTO   SECOND.        59 

Thence  view  the  lake,  with  sullen  roar, 

Heave  her  broad  billows  to  the  shore ; 

And  mark  the  wild-swans  mount  the  gale, 

Spread  wide  through  mist  their  snowy  sail,1 

And  ever  stoop  again,  to  lave 

Their  bosoms  on  the  surging  wave : 

Then,  when  against  the  driving  hail 

No  longer  might  my  plaid  avail, 

Back  to  my  lonely  home  retire, 

And  light  my  lamp,  and  trim  my  fire ; 

There  ponder  o'er  some  mystic  lay, 

Till  the  wild  tale  had  all  its  sway,2 

And,  in  the  bittern's  distant  shriek, 

I  heard  unearthly  voices  speak, 

And  thought  the  Wizard  Priest  was  come, 

To  claim  again  his  ancient  home ! 

And  bade  my  busy  fancy  range, 

To  frame  him  fitting  shape  and  strange, 

Till  from  the  task  my  brow  I  clear'd,3 

And  smiled  to  think  that  I  had  fear'd. 

But  chief,  'twere  sweet  to  think  such  life, 
(Though  but  escape  from  fortune's  strife,) 
Something  most  matchless  good  and  wise, 
A  great  and   grateful  sacrifice  ; 
And  deem  each  hour,  to  musing  given, 
A  step  upon  the  road  to  heaven. 

1  JfS. — "  Spread  through  broad  mist  their  snowy  sail.'* 
*MS.— "Till/ancy  wild  had  all  her  sway." 
'MS.— "Till  from  the  task  my  brain  I  clear'd." 


60  MARMION. 

Yet  him,  whose  heart  is  ill  at  ease, 
Such  peaceful  solitudes  displease : 
He  loves  to  drown  his  bosom's  jar 
Amid  the  elemental  war : 
And  my  black  Palmer's  choice  had  been 
Some  ruder  and  more  savage  scene, 
Like  that  which  frowns  round  dark  Loch-skene.1 
There  eagles  scream  from  isle  to  shore ; 
Down  all  the  rocks  the  torrents  roar ; 
O'er  the  black  waves  incessant  driven, 
Dark  mists  infect  the  summer  heaven ; 
Through  the  rude  barriers  of  the  lake, 
Away  its  hurrying  waters  break, 
Faster  and  whiter  dash  and  curl, 
Till  down  yon  dark  abyss  they  hurl 
Rises  the  fog-smoke  white  as  snow, 
Thunders  the  viewless  stream  below, 
Diving,  as  if  condemn'd  to  lave 
Some  demon's  subterranean  cave, 
Who,  prison'd  by  enchanter's  spell, 
Shakes  the  dark  rock  with  groan  and  yelL 
And  well  that  Palmer's  form  and  mien 

1  Loch-skene  is  a  mountain  lake,  of  considerable  size,  at  the 
head  of  the  Moffat-water.  The  character  of  the  scenery  is  un- 
commonly savage  ;  and  the  earn,  or  Scottish  eagle,  has,  for 
many  ages,  built  its  nest  yearly  upon  an  islet  in  the  lake. 
Loch-skene  discharges  itself  into  a  brook,  which,  after  a  short 
and  precipitate  course,  falls  from  a  cataract  of  immense  height 
and  gloomy  grandeur,  called,  from  its  appearance,  the  "Gray 
Mare's  Tail."  The  "Giant's  Grave,"  afterward  mentioned, 
is  a  sort  of  trench,  which  bears  that  name,  a  little  way  from 
the  foot  of  the  cataract.  It  has  the  appearance  of  a  battery, 
designed  to  command  the  pass. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO    SECOND.        61 

Had  suited  with  the  stormy  scene, 
Just  on  the  edge,  straining  his  ken 
To  view  the  bottom  of  the  den, 
Where,  deep  deep  down,  and  far  within 
Toils  with  the  rocks  the  roaring  linn ; 
Then,  issuing  forth  one  foamy  wave, 
And  wheeling  round  the  Giant's  Grave, 
White  as  the  snowy  charger's  tail, 
Drives  down  the  pass  of  Moffatdale. 

Marriott,  thy  harp,  on  Isis  strung, 
To  many  a  Border  theme  has  rung : 1 
Then  list  to  me,  and  thou  shalt  know 
Of  this  mysterious  Man  of  Woe. 

1  See  various  ballads  by  Mr.  Marriott,  in  the  fourth  volume 
of  the  Border  Minstrelsy. 


MARMION. 

CANTO  SECOND. 

THE   CONVENT. 


THE  breeze,  which  swept  away  the  smoke, 

Bound  Norham  Castle  roll'd, 
When  all  the  loud  artillery  spoke, 
With  lightning-flash,  and  thunder-stroke, 

As  Marmion  left  the  Hold. 
It  curl'd  not  Tweed  alone,  that  breeze, 
For,  far  upon  Northumbrian  seas, 

It  freshly  blew,  and  strong, 
Where,  from  high  Whitby's  cloister'd  pile,1 

1  The  Abbey  of  Whitby,  in  the  Archdeaconry  of  Cleaveland, 
on  the  coast  of  Yorkshire,  was  founded  A.  D.  657,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  vow  of  Oswy,  King  of  Northumberland.  It  con- 
tained both  monks  and  nuns  of  the  Benedictine  order ;  but, 
contrary  to  what  was  usual  in  such  establishments,  the  abbess 
was  superior  to  the  abbott.  The  monastery  was  afterward 
ruined  by  the  Danes,  and  rebuilded  by  William  Percy,  in  the 
reign  of  the  Conqueror.  There  were  no  nuns  there  in  Henry 
the  Eighth's  time,  nor  long  before  it.  The  ruins  of  Whitby 
Abbey  are  very  magnificent. 

63 


64  MARMION.  Canto  IL 

Bound  to  Saint  Cuthbert's  Holy  Isle,1 

It  bore  a  bark  along. 
Upon  the  gale  she  stoop'd  her  side, 
And  bounded  o'er  the  swelling  tide, 

As  she  were  dancing  home ; 
The  merry  seamen  laugh'd,  to  see 
Their  gallant  ship  so  lustily 

Furrow  the  green  sea-foam. 
Much  joy'd  they  in  their  honour'd  freight ; 
For,  on  the  deck,  in  chair  of  state, 
The  Abbess  of  Saint  Hilda  placed, 
With  five  fair  nuns,  the  galley  graced. 

II. 

'Twas  sweet  to  see  these  holy  maids, 
Like  birds  escaped  to  green- wood  shades, 

1  Lindisfarne,  an  isle  on  the  coast  of  Northumberland,  was 
called  Holy  Island,  from  the  sanctity  of  its  ancient  monastery, 
and  from  its  having  been  the  episcopal  seat  of  the  see  of  Dur- 
ham during  the  early  ages  of  British  Christianity.  A  succes- 
sion of  holy  men  held  that  office :  but  their  merits  were 
swallowed  up  in  the  superior  fame  of  St.  Cuthbert,  who  was 
sixth  bishop  of  Durham,  and  who  bestowed  the  name  of  his 
"patrimony"  upon  the  extensive  property  of  the  see.  The 
ruins  of  the  monastery  upon  Holy  Island  betoken  great  antiq- 
uity. The  arches  are,  in  general,  strictly  Saxon ;  and  the 
pillars  which  support  them,  short,  strong,  and  massy.  In 
some  places,  however,  there  are  pointed  windows,  which  indi- 
cate that  the  building  has  been  repaired  at  a  period  long  subse- 
quent to  the  original  foundation.  The  exterior  ornaments  of 
the  building,  being  of  a  light  sandy  stone,  have  been  wasted,  as 
described  in  the  text.  Lindisfarne  is  not  properly  an  island, 
but  rather,  as  the  Venerable  Bede  has  termed  it,  a  semi-isle ; 
for,  although  surrounded  by  the  sea  at  full  tide,  the  ebb  leaves 


Whifby. 

Photogravure  —  from  Drawing  by  P.  Dewint. 


Canto  II.  THE    CONVENT.  65 

Their  first  flight  from  the  cage, 
How  timid,  and  how  curious  too, 
For  all  to  them  was  strange  and  new, 
And  all  the  common  sights  they  view, 

Their  wonderment  engage. 
One  eyed  the  shrouds  and  swelling  sail, 

With  many  a  benedicite ; 
One  at  the  rippling  surge  grew  pale, 

And  would  for  terror  pray  ; 
Then  shriek'd,  because  the  seadog,  nigh, 
His  round  black  head,  and  sparkling  eye, 

Eear'd  o'er  the  foaming  spray  ; 
And  one  would  still  adjust  her  veil, 
Disorder'd  by  the  summer  gale, 
Perchance  lest  some  more  worldly  eye 
Her  dedicated  charms  might  spy ; 
Perchance,  because  such  action  graced 
Her  fair-turn'd  arm  and  slender  waist. 
Light  was  each  simple  bosom  there, 
Save  two,  who  ill  might  pleasure  share,  — 
The  Abbess,  and  the  Novice  Clare. 

III. 

The  Abbess  was  of  noble  blood, 
But  early  took  the  veil  and  hood, 
Ere  upon  life  she  cast  a  look, 
Or  knew  the  world  that  she  forsook. 
Fair  too  she  was,  and  kind  had  been 
As  she  was  fair,  but  ne'er  had  seen 

the  sands  dry  between  it  and  the  opposite  coast  of  Northumber=- 
land,  from  which  it  is  about  three  miles  distant. 

5 


66  MARMION  Canto  II. 

For  her  a  timid  lover  sigh, 
Nor  knew  the  influence  of  her  eye. 
Love,  to  her  ear,  was  but  a  name, 
Combined  with  vanity  and  shame ; 
Her  hopes,  her  fears,  her  joys,  were  all 
Bounded  within  the  cloister  wall : 
The  deadliest  sin  her  mind  could  reach, 
Was  of  monastic  rule  the  breach ; 
And  her  ambition's  highest  aim 
To  emulate  Saint  Hilda's  fame. 
For  this  she  gave  her  ample  dower,1 
To  raise  the  convent's  eastern  tower ; 
For  this,  with  carving  rare  and  quaint, 
She  deck'd  the  chapel  of  the  saint, 
And  gave  the  relic-shrine  of  cost, 
"With  ivory  and  gems  emboss'd. 
The  poor  her  Convent's  bounty  blest, 
The  pilgrim  in  its  halls  found  rest. 

IV. 

Black  was  her  garb,  her  rigid  rule 

Ref orm'd  on  Benedictine  school ; 

Her  cheek  was  pale,  her  form  was  spare ; 

Vigils,  and  penitence  austere, 

Had  early  quench'd  the  light  of  youth, 

But  gentle  was  the  dame,  in  sooth ; 

Though  vain  of  her  religious  sway, 

She  loved  to  see  her  maids  obey, 

1  MS.  —  "  '  Twas  she  that  gave  her  ample  dower  .  .  . 
'  Twas  she,  with  carving  rare  and  quaint, 
Who  deck'd  the  chapel  of  the  saint." 


Canto  II.  THE    CONVENT.  67 

Yet  nothing  stern  was  she  in  cell, 
And  the  nuns  loved  their  Abbess  well 
Sad  was  this  voyage  to  the  dame ; 
Summon'd  to  Lindisfarne,  she  came, 
There,  with  Saint  Cuthbert's  Abbot  old, 
And  Tynemouth's  Prioress,  to  hold 
A  chapter  of  Saint  Benedict, 
For  inquisition  stern  and  strict, 
On  two  apostates  from  the  faith, 
And,  if  need  were,  to  doom  to  death. 

V. 

Nought  say  I  here  of  Sister  Clare, 
Save  this,  that  she  was  young  and  fair ; 
As  yet  a  novice  unprofess'd, 
Lovely  and  gentle,  but  distress'd. 
She  was  betroth'd  to  one  now  dead, 
Or  worse,  who  had  dishonour'd  fled. 
Her  kinsmen  bade  her  give  her  hand 
To  one,  who  loved  her  for  her  land : 
Herself,  almost  heart-broken  now, 
Was  bent  to  take  the  vestal  vow, 
And  shroud,  within  Saint  Hilda's  gloom, 
Her  blasted  hopes  and  wither'd  bloom. 

VI. 

She  sate  upon  the  galley's  prow, 
And  seem'd  to  mark  the  waves  below ; 
Nay,  seem'd,  so  fix'd  her  look  and  eye, 
To  count  them  as  they  glided  by. 


68  MARMION.  Canto 

She  saw  them  not  —  'twas  seeming  all  — 
Far  other  scene  her  thoughts  recall,  — 
A  sun-scorch'd  desert,  waste  and  bare, 
Nor  waves,  nor  breezes,  murnmr'd  there ; 
There  saw  she,  where  some  careless  hand 
O'er  a  dead  corpse  had  heap'd  the  sand, 
To  hide  it  till  the  jackals  come, 
To  tear  it  from  the  scanty  tomb.  — 
See  what  a  woful  look  was  given, 
As  she  raised  up  her  eyes  to  heaven ! 

VII. 

Lovely,  and  gentle,  and  distress'd  — 

These  charms  might  tame  the  fiercest  breast : 

Harpers  have  sung,  and  poets  told, 

That  he,  in  fury  uncontroll'd, 

The  shaggy  monarch  of  the  wood, 

Before  a  virgin,  fair  and  good, 

Hath  pacified  his  savage  mood. 

But  passions  in  the  human  frame, 

Oft  put  the  lion's  rage  to  shame : 

And  jealousy,  by  dark  intrigue, 

With  sordid  avarice  in  league, 

Had  practised  with  their  bowl  and  knife, 

Against  the  mourner's  harmless  life. 

This  crime  was  charged  'gainst  those  who  lay 

Prison'd  in  Cuthbert's  islet  gray. 

VIII. 

And  now  the  vessel  skirts  the  strand 
Of  mountainous  Northumberland ; 


Canto  II.  THE   CONVENT.  69 

Towns,  towers,  and  halls,  successive  rise, 

And  catch  the  nuns'  delighted  eyes. 

Monk-Wearmouth  soon  behind  them  lay, 

And  Tynemouth's  priory  and  bay ; 

They  mark'd,  amid  her  trees,  the  hall 

Of  lofty  Seaton-Delaval ; 

They  saw  the  Blythe  and  Wansbeck  floods 

Rush  to  the  sea  through  sounding  woods ; 

They  pass'd  the  tower  of  Widderington,1 

Mother  of  many  a  valiant  son ; 

At  Coquet-isle  their  beads  they  tell 

To  the  good  Saint  who  own'd  the  cell ; 

Then  did  the  Alne  attention  claim, 

And  Warkworth,  proud  of  Percy's  name ; 

And  next,  they  cross'd  themselves,  to  hear 

The  whitening  breakers  sound  so  near, 

Where,  boiling  through  the  rocks,  they  roar, 

On  Dunstanborough's  cavern'd  shore ; 

Thy  tower,  proud  Bamborough,  mark'd  they  there, 

King  Ida's  castle,  huge  and  square, 

From  its  tall  rock  look  grimly  down, 

And  on  the  swelling  ocean  frown ; 

Then  from  the  coast  they  bore  away, 

And  reach'd  the  Holy  Island's  bay. 

IX. 

The  tide  did  now  its  flood-mark  gain, 
And  girdled  in  the  Saint's  domain : 
For,  with  the  flow  and  ebb,  its  style 
Varies  from  continent  to  isle ; 
1  See  the  notes  on  Chevy  Chase. — Percy's  Eeliques. 


70  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

Dry-shod,  o'er  sands,  twice  every  day, 
The  pilgrims  to  the  shrine  find  way ; 
Twice  every  day,  the  waves  efface 
Of  staves  and  sandall'd  feet  the  trace. 
As  to  the  port  the  galley  flew, 
Higher  and  higher  rose  to  view 
The  Castle  with  its  battled  walls, 
The  ancient  Monastery's  halls, 
A  solemn,  huge,  and  dark-red  pile, 
Placed  on  the  margin  of  the  isle. 


In  Saxon  strength  that  Abbey  frown'd, 
With  massive  arches  broad  and  round, 

That  rose  alternate,  row  and  row, 

On  ponderous  columns,  short  and  low, 
Built  ere  the  art  was  known, 

By  pointed  aisle,  and  shafted  stalk, 

The  arcades  of  an  alley'd  walk 

To  emulate  in  stone. 
On  the  deep  walls,  the  heathen  Dane 
Had  pour'd  his  impious  rage  in  vain  ; 
And  needful  was  such  strength  to  these, 
Exposed  to  the  tempestuous  seas, 
Scourged  by  the  winds'  eternal  sway, 
Open  to  rovers  fierce  as  they, 
Which  could  twelve  hundred  years  withstand 
Winds,  waves,  and  northern  pirates'  hand. 
Not  but  that  portions  of  the  pile, 
Eebuilded  in  a  later  style, 


Canto  II.  THE   CONVENT.  Jl 

ShowM  where  the  spoiler's  hand  had  been ; 
Not  but  the  wasting  sea-breeze  keen 
Had  worn  the  pillar's  carving  quaint, 
And  moulder'd  in  his  niche  the  saint, 
And  rounded,  with  consuming  power, 
The  pointed  angles  of  each  tower ; 
Yet  still  entire  the  Abbey  stood, 
Like  veteran,  worn,  but  unsubdued. 

XI. 

Soon  as  they  near'd  his  turrets  strong, 
The  maidens  raised  Saint  Hilda's  song, 

And  with  the  sea-wave  and  the  wind, 

Their  voices,  sweetly  shrill,  combined, 
And  made  harmonious  close; 

Then,  answering  from  the  sandy  shore, 

Half-drown'd  amid  the  breakers'  roar, 
According  chorus  rose : 

Down  to  the  haven  of  the  Isle, 

The  monks  and  nuns  in  order  file, 

From  Cuthbert's  cloisters  grim ; 
Banner,  and  cross,  and  relics  there, 
To  meet  Saint  Hilda's  maids,  they  bare ; 
And,  as  they  caught  the  sounds  on  air, 

They  echoed  back  the  hymn. 
The  islanders,  in  joyous  mood, 
Bush'd  emulously  through  the  flood, 

To  hale  the  bark  to  knd ; 
Conspicuous  by  her  veil  and  hood, 
Signing  the  cross,  the  Abbess  stood, 

And  bless'd  them  with  her  hand. 


72  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

XII. 

Suppose  we  now  the  welcome  said, 
Suppose  the  Convent  banquet  made : 

All  through  the  holy  dome, 
Through  cloister,  aisle,  and  gallery, 
Wherever  vestal  maid  might  pry, 
Nor  risk  to  meet  unhallow'd  eye, 

The  stranger  sisters  roam : 
Till  fell  the  evening  damp  with  dew, 
And  the  sharp  sea-breeze  coldly  blew, 
For  there,  even  summer  night  is  chill. 
Then,  having  stray'd  and  gazed  their  fill, 

They  closed  around  the  fire ; 
And  all,  in  turn,  essay'd  to  paint 
The  rival  merits  of  then-  saint, 

A  theme  that  ne'er  can  tire 
A  holy  maid ;  for,  be  it  known, 
That  their  saint's  honour  is  their  own. 

XIII. 

Then  Whitby's  nuns  exulting  told, 
How  to  their  house  three  Barons  bold 

Must  menial  service  do ; 1 
While  horns  blow  out  a  note  of  shame, 
And  monks  cry  "  Fye  upon  your  name ! 
In  wrath,  for  loss  of  silvan  game, 

Saint  Hilda's  priest  ye  slew."  — 
"This,  on  Ascension-day,  each  year, 
While  labouring  on  our  harbour-pier, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 


Canto  II.  THE   CONVENT.  73 

Must  Herbert,  Bruce,  and  Percy  hear."  — 
They  told,  how  in  their  convent-cell 
A  Saxon  princess  once  did  dwell, 

The  lovely  Edelfled;1 
And  how,  of  thousand  snakes,  each  one 
Was  changed  into  a  coil  of  stone, 

When  holy  Hilda  pray'd ; 
Themselves,  within  their  holy  bound, 
Their  stony  folds  had  often  found. 
They  told,  how  sea-fowls'  pinions  fail, 
As  over  Whitby's  towers  they  sail,2 

1  She  was  the  daughter  of  King  Oswy,  who,  in  gratitude  to 
Heaven  for  the  great  victory  which  he  won  in  655,  against 
Penda,  the  pagan  King  of  Mercia,  dedicated  Edelfleda,  then 
but  a  year  old,  to  the  service  of  God,  in  the  monastery  of 
Whitby,  of  which  St.  Hilda  was  then  abbess.  She  afterward 
adorned  the  place  of  her  education  with  great  magnificence. 

3  These  two  miracles  are  much  insisted  upon  by  all  ancient 
writers  who  have  occasion  to  mention  either  Whitby  or  St. 
Hilda.  The  relics  of  the  snakes  which  infested  the  precincts 
of  the  convent,  and  were,  at  the  abbess's  prayer,  not  only 
beheaded,  but  petrified,  are  still  found  about  the  rocks,  and 
are  termed  by  Protestant  fossilists,  Ammonitaz. 

The  other  miracle  is  thus  mentioned  by  Camden :  "  It  is 
also  ascribed  to  the  power  of  her  sanctity,  that  these  wild 
geese,  which,  in  the  winter,  fly  in  great  flocks  to  the  lakes  and 
rivers  unfrozen  in  the  southern  parts,  to  the  great  amazement 
of  every  one,  fall  down  suddenly  upon  the  ground  when  they 
are  in  their  flight  over  certain  neighbouring  fields  hereabouts  : 
a  relation  I  should  not  have  made  if  I  had  not  received  it  from 
several  credible  men.  But  those  who  are  less  inclined  to  heed 
superstition,  attribute  it  to  some  occult  quality  in  the  ground, 
and  to  somewhat  of  antipathy  between  it  and  the  geese,  such  as 
they  say  is  betwixt  wolves  and  scyllaroots.  For  that  such 
hidden  tendencies  and  aversions,  as  we  call  sympathies  and 
antipathies,  are  implanted  in  many  things  by  provident  Nature 


74  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

And,  sinking  down,  with  flutterings  faint, 
They  do  their  homage  to  the  saint. 

XIV. 

Nor  did  Saint  Cuthbert's  daughters  fail, 

To  vie  with  these  in  holy  tale ; 

His  body's  resting-place,  of  old, 

How  oft  their  patron  changed,  they  told ;  * 

for  the  preservation  of  them,  is  a  thing  so  evident  that  every- 
body grants  it."  Mr.  Charlton,  in  his  History  of  Whitby, 
points  out  the  true  origin  of  the  fable  from  the  number  of  sea- 
gulls that,  when  flying  from  a  storm,  often  alight  near  Whitby  ; 
and  from  the  woodcocks  and  other  birds  of  passage  who  do 
the  same  upon  their  arrival  on  shore  after  a  long  flight. 

1  St.  Cuthbert  was,  in  the  choice  of  his  sepulchre,  one  of 
the  most  mutable  and  unreasonable  saints  in  the  calendar.  He 
died  A.  D.  688,  in  a  hermitage  upon  the  Fame  Islands,  having 
resigned  the  bishopric  of  Lindisfarne,  or  Holy  Island,  about 
two  years  before.2  His  body  was  brought  to  Lindisfarne, 
where  it  remained  until  a  descent  of  the  Danes,  about  793, 
when  the  monastery  was  nearly  destroyed.  The  monks  fled 
to  Scotland  with  what  they  deemed  their  chief  treasure,  the 
relics  of  St.  Cuthbert.  The  saint  was,  however,  a  most  capri- 
cious fellow  traveller ;  which  was  the  more  intolerable,  as,  like 
Sinbad's  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  he  journeyed  upon  the  shoulders 
of  his  companions.  They  paraded  him  through  Scotland  for 
several  years,  and  came  as  far  west  as  Whithern,  in  Galloway, 
whence  they  attempted  to  sail  for  Ireland,  but  were  driven 
back  by  tempests.  He  at  length  made  a  halt  at  Norham  ;  from 
thence  he  went  to  Melrose,  where  he  remained  stationary  for 
a  short  time,  and  then  caused  himself  to  be  launched  upon  the 
Tweed  in  a  stone  coffin,  which  landed  him  at  Tilmouth,  in 
Northumberland.  This  boat  is  finely  shaped,  ten  feet  long, 
three  feet  and  a  half  in  diameter,  and  only  four  inches  thick ; 

*  He  resumed  the  bishopric  of  Lindisfarne,  which,  owing  to  bad 
health,  he  again  relinquished  within  less  than  three  months  before 
his  death.— Maine's  St.  Cuthbert. 


Canto  II.  THE   CONVENT.  75 

How,  when  the  rude  Dane  burn'd  their  pile, 
The  monks  fled  forth  from  Holy  Isle ; 
O'er  northern  mountain,  marsh,  and  moor, 
From  sea  to  sea,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Seven  years  Saint  Cuthbert's  corpse  they  bore. 
They  rested  them  in  fair  Melrose ; 

But  though,  alive,  he  loved  it  well, 
Not  there  his  relics  might  repose ; 
For,  wondrous  tale  to  tell ! 

so  that,  with  very  little  assistance,  it  might  certainly  have 
swam.  It  still  lies,  or  at  least  did  so  a  few  years  ago,  in  two 
pieces,  beside  the  ruined  chapel  of  Tilmouth.  From  Tilmouth, 
Cuthbert  wandered  into  Yorkshire  ;  and  at  length  made  a  long 
stay  at  Chester-le-street,  to  which  the  bishop's  see  was  trans- 
ferred. At  length,  the  Danes  continuing  to  infest  the  country, 
the  monks  removed  to  Rippon  for  a  season  ;  and  it  was  hi 
return  from  thence  to  Chester-le-street,  that,  passing  through 
a  forest  called  Dunholme,  the  saint  and  his  carriage  became 
immovable  at  a  place  named  Wardlaw,  or  Wardilaw.  Here 
the  saint  chose  his  place  of  residence  ;  and  all  who  have  seen 
Durham  must  admit  that,  if  difficult  in  his  choice,  he  evinced 
taste  in  at  length  fixing  it.  It  is  said  that  the  Northumbrian 
Catholics  still  keep  secret  the  precise  spot  of  the  saint's  sepul- 
ture, which  is  only  entrusted  to  three  persons  at  a  tune.  When 
one  dies,  the  survivors  associate  to  them,  in  his  room,  a  person 
judged  fit  to  be  the  depositary  of  so  valuable  a  secret. 

The  resting-place  of  the  remains  of  this  saint  is  not  now 
matter  of  uncertainty.  So  recently  as  17th  May,  1827,  1,139 
years  after  his  death,  their  discovery  and  disinterment  were 
effected.  Under  a  blue  stone,  hi  the  middle  of  the  shrine  of  St. 
Cuthbert,  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  choir  of  Durham 
Cathedral,  there  was  then  found  a  walled  grave,  containing  the 
coffins  of  the  saint.  The  first,  or  outer  one,  was  ascertained  to 
be  that  of  1641,  the  second  of  1041 ;  the  third,  or  inner  one, 
answering  in  every  particular  to  the  description  of  that  of  689, 
was  found  to  contain,  not  indeed  as  had  been  averred  then,  and 
even  until  1539,  the  incorruptible  body,  but  the  entire  skeleton 


76  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

In  his  stone-coffin  forth  he  rides, 

A  ponderous  bark  for  river  tides, 

Yet  light  as  gossamer  it  glides, 
Downward  to  Tilmouth  cell 
Nor  long  was  his  abiding  there, 
For  southward  did  the  saint  repair ; 
Chester-le-Street,  and  Rippon,  saw 
His  holy  corpse,  ere  Wardilaw 

Hail'd  him  with  joy  and  fear ; 
And,  after  many  wanderings  past, 
He  chose  his  lordly  seat  at  last, 

of  the  saint ;  the  bottom  of  the  grave  being  perfectly  dry,  free 
from  offensive  smell,  and  without  the  slightest  symptom  that 
a  human  body  had  ever  undergone  decomposition  within  its 
walls.  The  skeleton  was  found  swathed  in  five  silk  robes  of 
emblematical  embroidery,  the  ornamental  parts  laid  with  gold 
leaf,  and  these  again  covered  with  a  robe  of  linen.  Beside  the 
skeleton  were  also  deposited  several  gold  and  silver  insignia, 
and  other  relics  of  the  saint. 

(The  Roman  Catholics  now  allow  that  the  coffin  was  that  of 
St.  Cuthbert.) 

The  bones  of  the  saint  were  again  restored  to  the  grave  in 
a  new  coffin,  amid  the  fragments  of  the  former  ones.  Those 
portions  of  the  inner  coffin  which  could  be  preserved,  including 
one  of  its  rings,  with  the  silver  altar,  golden  cross,  stole,  comb, 
two  maniples,  bracelets,  girdle,  gold  wire  of  the  skeleton,  and 
fragments  of  the  five  silk  robes,  and  some  of  the  rings  of  the 
outer  coffin  made  in  1541,  were  deposited  in  the  library  of 
the  Dean  and  Chapter,  where  they  are  now  preserved. 

For  ample  details  of  the  life  of  St.  Cuthbert,  —  his  coffin- 
journeys,  —  an  account  of  the  opening  of  his  tomb,  and  a 
description  of  the  silk  robes  and  other  relics  found  in  it,  the 
reader  interested  in  such  matters  is  referred  to  a  work  entitled 
Saint  Cuthbert,  by  James  Raine,  M.  A.  (4to,  Durham,  1828), 
where  he  will  find  much  of  antiquarian  history,  ceremonies, 
and  superstitions,  to  gratify  his  curiosity.  —  ED. 


Canto  II.  THE   CONVENT.  77 

Where  his  cathedral,  huge  and  vast, 

Looks  down  upon  the  Wear : 
There,  deep  in  Durham's  Gothic  shade, 
His  relics  are  in  secret  laid ; 

But  none  may  know  the  place, 
Save  of  his  holiest  servants  three, 
Deep  sworn  to  solemn  secrecy, 

Who  share  that  wondrous  grace. 


XV. 

Who  may  his  miracles  declare ! 

Even  Scotland's  dauntless  king,  and  heir, 

(Although  with  them  they  led 
Galwegians,  wild  as  ocean's  gale, 
And  Lodon's  knights,  all  sheathed  in  mail, 
And  the  bold  men  of  Teviotdale,) 

Before  his  standard  fled.1 
Twas  he,  to  vindicate  his  reign, 

1  Every  one  has  heard  that  when  David  I.,  with  his  son 
Henry,  invaded  Northumberland  in  1136,  the  English  host 
marched  against  them  under  the  holy  banner  of  St.  Cuthbert ; 
to  the  efficacy  of  which  was  imputed  the  great  victory  which 
they  obtained  in  the  bloody  battle  of  Northallerton,  or  Cuton- 
moor.  The  conquerors  were  at  least  as  much  indebted  to  the 
jealousy  and  intractability  of  the  different  tribes  who  composed 
David's  army  ;  among  whom,  as  mentioned  in  the  text,  were 
the  Galwegians,  the  Britons  of  Strath-Clyde,  the  men  of  Teviot- 
dale and  Lothian,  with  many  Norman  and  German  warriors, 
who  asserted  the  cause  of  the  Empress  Maud.  See  Chalmers's 
Caledonia,  vol.  i.  p.  622  ;  a  most  laborious,  curious,  and  inter- 
esting publication,  from  which  considerable  defects  of  style 
and  manner  ought  not  to  turn  aside  the  Scottish  antiquary. 


78  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

Edged  Alfred's  falchion  on  the  Dane, 
And  turn'd  the  Conqueror  back  again,1 
When,  with  his  Norman  bowyer  band, 
He  came  to  waste  Northumberland. 


XVI. 

But  fain  Saint  Hilda's  nuns  would  learn 
If,  on  a  rock,  by  Lindisfarne, 
Saint  Cuthbert  sits,  and  toils  to  frame 
The  sea-born  beads  that  bear  his  name : 2 

1  Cuthbert,  we  have  seen,  had  no  great  reason  to  spare  the 
Danes,   when  opportunity   offered.     Accordingly,   I  find,   in 
Simeon  of  Durham,  that  the   saint  appeared  in  a  vision  to 
Alfred,   when  lurking  in  the  marshes  of  Glastonbury,  and 
promised  him  assistance  and  victory  over  his  heathen  enemies  ; 
a  consolation  which,  as  was  reasonable,  Alfred,  after  the  vic- 
tory of  Ashendown,  rewarded  by  a  royal  offering  at  the  shrine 
of  the  saint.     As  to  William  the  Conqueror,  the  terror  spread 
before  his  army,  when  he  marched  to  punish  the  revolt  of  the 
Northumbrians,  in  1096,  had  forced  the  monks  to  fly  once  more 
to  Holy  Island  with  the  body  of  the  saint.     It  was,  however, 
replaced  before  William  left  the  North  ;  and,  to  balance  ac- 
counts, the  Conqueror  having  intimated  an  indiscreet  curiosity 
to  view  the  saint's  body,  he  was,  while  in  the  act  of  command- 
ing the  shrine  to  be  opened,  seized   with  heat  and  sickness, 
accompanied  with  such  a  panic  terror,  that,  notwithstanding 
there  was  a  sumptuous  dinner  prepared  for  him,  he  fled  with- 
out eating  a  morsel  (which  the  monkish  historian  seems  to 
have  thought  no  small  part  both  of  the  miracle  and  the  pen- 
ance), and  never  drew  his  bridle  till  he  got  to  the  river  Tees. 

2  Although  we  do  not  learn  that  Cuthbert  was,  during  his 
life,  such  an  artificer  as  Dunstan,  his  brother  in  sanctity,  yet, 
since  his  death,  he  has  acquired  the  reputation  of  forging  those 
Entrochi  which   are  found  among  the  rocks  of  Holy  Island, 
and  pass  there  by  the  name  of  St.  Cuthbert's  Beads.     While 
at  this  task  he  is  supposed  to  sit  during  the  night  upon  a  cer- 


Canto  II.  THE   CONVENT.  79 

Such  tales  had  Whitby's  fishers  told, 
And  said  they  might  his  shape  behold, 

And  hear  his  anvil  sound ; 
A  deaden'd  clang,  —  a  huge  dim  form, 
Seen  but,  and  heard,  when  gathering  storm 1 

And  night  were  closing  round. 
But  this,  as  tale  of  idle  fame, 
The  nuns  of  Lindisfarne  disclaim. 

XVII. 

While  round  the  fire  such  legends  go, 
Far  different  was  the  scene  of  woe, 
Where,  in  a  secret  aisle  beneath, 
Council  was  held  of  life  and  death. 
It  was  more  dark  and  lone  that  vault, 

Than  the  worst  dungeon  cell : 
Old  Colwulf  2  built  it,  for  his  fault, 
In  penitence  to  dwell, 

tain  rock,  and  use  another  as  his  anvil.  This  story  was  per- 
haps credited  in  former  days ;  at  least  the  saint's  legend 
contains  some  not  more  probable. 

1  MS.  —  "  Seen  only  when  the  gathering  storm." 

2  Ceolwulf ,  or  Colwulf,  King  of  Northumberland,  flourished 
in  the  eighth  century.     He  was  a  man  of  some  learning ;  for 
the  Venerable  Bede  dictates  to  him  his  Ecclesiastical  His- 
tory.     He  abdicated  the  throne   about  738,   and  retired  to 
Holy  Island,  where  he  died  in  the  odour  of  sanctity.     Saint  as 
Colwulf  was,  however,  I  fear  the  foundation  of  the  penance- 
vault  does  not  correspond  with  his  character  ;  for  it  is  recorded 
among  his  memorabilia,  that,  finding  the  air  of  the  island  raw 
and  cold,  he  indulged  the  monks,  whose  rule  had  hitherto  con- 
fined them  to  milk  or  water,  with  the  comfortable  privilege  of 
using  wine  or  ale.     If  any  rigid  antiquary  insists  on  this 


8o  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

When  he,  for  cowl  and  beads,  laid  down 
The  Saxon  battle-axe  and  crown. 
This  den,  which,  chilling  every  sense 

Of  feeling,  hearing,  sight, 
Was  call'd  the  Vault  of  Penitence, 

Excluding  air  and  light, 
Was,  by  the  prelate  Sexhelm,  made 
A  place  of  burial  for  such  dead, 
As,  having  died  in  mortal  sin, 
Might  not  be  laid  the  church  within. 
'Twas  now  a  place  of  punishment ; 
Whence  if  so  loud  a  shriek  were  sent, 

As  reach'd  the  upper  air, 
The  hearers  bless'd  themselves,  and  said, 
The  spirits  of  the  sinful  dead 

Bemoan'd  their  torments  there. 

XVIII. 

But  though,  in  the  monastic  pile, 
Did  of  this  penitential  aisle 

objection,  he  is  welcome  to  suppose  the  penance-vault  was 
intended,  by  the  founder,  for  the  more  genial  purposes  of  a 
cellar. 

These  penitential  vaults  were  the  Geissel-gewolbe  of  Ger- 
man convents.  In  the  earlier  and  more  rigid  times  of  monas- 
tic discipline,  they  were  sometimes  used  as  a  cemetery  for  the 
lay  benefactors  of  the  convent,  whose  unsanctified  corpses 
were  then  seldom  permitted  to  pollute  the  choir.  They  also 
served  as  places  of  meeting  for  the  chapter,  when  measures  of 
uncommon  severity  were  to  be  adopted.  But  their  most  fre- 
quent use,  as  implied  by  the  name,  was  as  places  for  perform- 
ing penances  or  undergoing  punishment. 


Canto  II.  THE   CONVENT.  81 

Some  vague  tradition  go, 
Few  only,  save  the  Abbot,  knew 
Where  the  place  lay ;  and  still  more  few 
Were  those,  who  had  from  him  the  clew 

To  that  dread  vault  to  go. 
Victim  and  executioner 
Were  blindf old  when  transported  there. 
In  low  dark  rounds  the  arches  hung, 
From  the  rude  rock  the  side- walls  sprung ; 
The  grave-stones,  rudely  sculptured  o'er, 
Half  sunk  in  earth,  by  time  half  wore, 
Were  all  the  pavement  of  the  floor ; 
The  mildew-drops  fell  one  by  one, 
With  tinkling  plash,  upon  the  stone. 
A  cresset,1  in  an  iron  chain,2 
Which  served  to  light  this  drear  domain, 
With  damp  and  darkness  seem'd  to  strive, 
As  if  it  scarce  might  keep  alive ; 
And  yet  it  dimly  served  to  show 
The  awful  conclave  met  below. 


XIX. 

There,  met  to  doom  in  secrecy, 

Were  placed  the  heads  of  convents  three : 

All  servants  of  Saint  Benedict, 

The  statutes  of  whose  order  strict 

1  Antique  chandelier. 

8  MS.  —  "  Suspended  by  an  iron  chain, 

A  cresset  showed  this  \  ,         >  domain." 
(  drear  J 


82  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

On  iron  table  lay ; l 
In  long  black  dress,  on  seats  of  stone, 
Behind  were  these  three  judges  shown 

By  the  pale  cresset's  ray : 
The  Abbess  of  Saint  Hilda's,  there, 
Sat  for  a  space  with  visage  bare, 
Until,  to  hide  her  bosom's  swell, 
And  tear-drops  that  for  pity  fell, 

She  closely  drew  her  veil : 
Yon  shrouded  figure,  as  I  guess, 
By  her  proud  mien  and  flowing  dress, 
Is  Tynemouth's  haughty  Prioress,2 

And  she  with  awe  looks  pale : 
And  he,  that  Ancient  Man,  whose  sight 
Has  long  been  quench'd  by  age's  night, 


1  MS.  —  "  On  stony  table  lay." 

2  That  there  was  an  ancient  priory  at  Tynemouth  is  certain. 
Its  ruins  are  situated  on  a  high  rocky  point ;  and,  doubtless, 
many  a  vow  was  made  to  the  shrine  by  the  distressed  mariners, 
who  drove  toward  the  iron-bound  coast  of  Northumberland  in 
stormy  weather.     It  was  anciently   a  nunnery  ;    for  Virca, 
Abbess  of  Tynemouth,  presented  St.  Cuthbert  (yet  alive)  with 
a  rare  winding-sheet,  in  emulation  of  a  holy  lady  called  Tuda, 
who  had  sent  him  a  coffin.    But,  as  in  the  case  of  Whitby,  and 
of  Holy  Island,  the  introduction  of  nuns  at  Tynemouth,  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  is  an  anachronism.      The  nunnery  at 
Holy  Island  is  altogether  fictitious.     Indeed,  St.  Cuthbert  was 
unlikely  to  permit  such  an  establishment ;  for,  notwithstand- 
ing his  accepting  the  mortuary  gifts  above  mentioned,  and  his 
carrying  on  a  visiting  acquaintance  with  the  Abbess  of  Cold- 
inghain,  he  certainly  hated  the  whole  female  sex ;  and,  in  re- 
venge of  a  slippery  trick  played  to  him  by  an  Irish  princess, 
he,  after  death,  inflicted  severe  penances  on  such  as  presumed 
to  approach  within  a  certain  distance  of  his  shrine. 


Canto  II.  THE    CONVENT.  83 

Upon  whose  wrinkled  brow  alone, 
Nor  truth,  nor  mercy's  trace,  is  shown, 

Whose  look  is  hard  and  stern,  — 
Saint  Cuthbert's  Abbot  is  his  style ; 
For  sanctity  call'd,  through  the  isle, 

The  Saint  of  Lindisfarne. 

XX. 

Before  them  stood  a  guilty  pair ; 
But,  though  an  equal  fate  they  share, 
Yet  one  alone  deserves  our  care. 
Her  sex  a  page's  dress  belied ; 
The  cloak  and  doublet,  loosely  tied, 
Obscured  her  charms,  but  could  not  hide. 

Her  cap  down  o'er  her  face  she  drew ; 
And,  on  her  doublet  breast, 

She  tried  to  hide  the  badge  of  blue, 

Lord  Marmion's  falcon  crest. 
But,  at  the  Prioress'  command, 
A  Monk  undid  the  silken  band, 

That  tied  her  tresses  fair, 
And  raised  the  bonnet  from  her  head, 
And  down  her  slender  form  they  spread, 

In  ringlets  rich  and  rare. 
Constance  de  Beverley  they  know, 
Sister  profess'd  of  Fontevraud, 
Whom  the  church  number'd  with  the  dead, 
For  broken  vows,  and  convent  fled. 

XXI. 

When  thus  her  face  was  given  to  view, 
(Although  so  pallid  was  her  hue, 


84  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

It  did  a  ghastly  contrast  bear 
To  those  bright  ringlets  glistering  fair,) 
Her  look  composed,  and  steady  eye, 
Bespoke  a  matchless  constancy ; 
And  there  she  stood  so  calm  and  pale, 
That,  but  her  breathing  did  not  fail, 
And  motion  slight  of  eye  and  head, 
And  of  her  bosom,  warranted 
That  neither  sense  nor  pulse  she  lacks, 
You  might  have  thought  a  form  of  wax, 
Wrought  to  the  very  life,  was  there  ; 
So  still  she  was,  so  pale,  so  fair.1 

1  The  picture  of  Constance  before  her  judges,  though  more 
laboured  (than  that  of  the  Voyage  of  the  Lady  Abbess),  is  not, 
to  our  taste,  so  pleasing  ;  though  it  has  beauty  of  a  kind  fully 
as  popular.  —  Jeffrey. 

I  sent  for  Marmion,  because  it  occurred  to  me  there  might 
be  a  resemblance  between  part  of  Parisina,  and  a  similar  scene 
in  the  second  canto  of  Marmion.  I  fear  there  is,  though  I 
never  thought  of  it  before,  and  could  hardly  wish  to  imitate 
that  which  is  inimitable.  I  wish  you  would  ask  Mr.  Gifford 
whether  I  ought  to  say  anything  upon  it.  I  had  completed 
the  story  on  the  passage  from  Gibbon,  which  indeed  leads  to 
a  like  scene  naturally,  without  a  thought  of  the  kind ;  but  it 
comes  upon  me  not  very  comfortably.  —  Lord  Byron  to  Mr. 
Murray,  Feb.  3,  1816.  —  Compare  : 

"...  Parisina' s  fatal  charms 
Again  attracted  every  eye  — 
Would  she  thus  hear  him  doom'd  to  die  ! 
She  stood,  I  said,  all  pale  and  still, 
The  living  cause  of  Hugo's  ill  ; 
Her  eyes  unmoved,  but  full  and  wide, 
Not  once  had  turn'd  to  either  side  — 
Nor  once  did  those  sweet  eyelids  close, 
Or  shade  the  glance  o'er  which  they  rose, 


Trial  of  Constance  de  'Beverly. 

Photogravure  —  from  Painting  by  T.  E.  Rosenthal. 


Canto  II.  THE   CONVENT.  85 

XXII. 

Her  comrade  was  a  sordid  soul, 

Such  as  does  murder  for  a  meed ; 
Who,  but  of  fear,  knows  no  control, 
Because  his  conscience,  sear'd  and  foul, 

Feels  not  the  import  of  his  deed ; 
One,  whose  brute-f eeling  ne'er  aspires 1 
Beyond  his  own  more  brute  desires. 
Such  tools  the  Tempter  ever  needs, 
To  do  the  savagest  of  deeds ; 
For  them  no  vision'd  terrors  daunt, 
Their  nights  no  fancied  spectres  haunt, 
One  fear  with  them,  of  all  most  base, 
The  fear  of  death,  —  alone  finds  place. 
This  wretch  was  clad  in  frock  and  cowl, 
And  shamed  not  loud  to  moan  and  howl, 

But  round  their  orbs  of  deepest  blue 

The  circling  white  dilated  grew  — 

And  there  with  glassy  gaze  she  stood 

As  ice  were  in  her  curdled  blood ; 

But  every  now  and  then  a  tear 
So  large  and  slowly  gather'd  slid 
From  the  long  dark  fringe  of  that  fair  lid, 

It  was  a  thing  to  see,  not  hear  ! 

And  those  who  saw,  it  did  surprise, 

Such  drops  could  fall  from  human  eyes. 

To  speak  she  thought  —  the  imperfect  note 

Was  choked  within  her  swelling  throat, 

Yet  seem'd  in  that  low  hollow  groan 

Her  whole  heart  gushing  in  the  tone." 

—  Byron's  Works,  vol.  x.  p.  171. 

*In  some  recent  editions  this  word  had  been  erroneously 
printed  "  inspires."    The  MS.  has  the  correct  line. 
"  One  whose  brute-feeling  ne'er  aspires." 


86  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

His  body  on  the  floor  to  dash, 
And  crouch,  like  hound  beneath  the  lash ; 
While  his  mute  partner,  standing  near, 
Waited  her  doom  without  a  tear. 

XXIIL 

Yet  well  the  luckless  wretch  might  shriek, 
Well  might  her  paleness  terror  speak ! 
For  there  was  seen  in  that  dark  wall, 
Two  niches,  narrow,  deep,  and  tall ;  — 
Who  enters  at  such  grisly  door, 
Shall  ne'er,  I  ween,  find  exit  more. 
In  each  a  slender  meal  was  laid, 
Of  roots,  of  water,  and  of  bread : 
By  each,  in  Benedictine  dress, 
Two  haggard  monks  stood  motionless ; 
Who,  holding  high  a  blazing  torch, 
Show'd  the  grim  entrance  of  the  porch  : 
^Reflecting  back  the  smoky  beam, 
The  dark-red  walls  and  arches  gleam. 
Hewn  stones  and  cement  were  display'd,. 
And  building  tools  in  order  laid. 

XXIV. 

These  executioners  were  chose, 
As  men  who  were  with  mankind  foes, 
And  with  despite  and  envy  fired, 
Into  the  cloister  had  retired ; 

Or  who,  in  desperate  doubt  of  grace, 

Strove,  by  deep  penance,  to  efface 
Of  some  foul  crime  the  stain ; 


Canto  II.  THE   CONVENT.  87 

For,  as  the  vassals  of  her  will, 
Such  men  the  Church  selected  still, 
As  either  joy'd  in  doing  ill, 
Or  thought  more  grace  to  gain, 

If,  in  her  cause,  they  wrestled  down 

Feelings  their  nature  strove  to  own. 

By  strange  device  were  they  brought  there, 

They  knew  not  how,  nor  knew  not  where. 

XXV. 

And  now  that  blind  old  Abbot  rose, 

To  speak  the  Chapter's  doom, 
On  those  the  wall  was  to  enclose, 

Alive,  within  the  tomb ; l 
But  stopp'd,  because  that  woful  Maid, 
Gathering  her  powers,  to  speak  essayed. 
Twice  she  essay'd,  and  twice  in  vain ; 
Her  accents  might  no  utterance  gain ; 

1  It  is  well  known  that  the  religious,  who  broke  their  vows 
of  chastity,  were  subjected  to  the  same  penalty  as  the  Roman 
vestals  in  a  similar  case.  A  small  niche,  sufficient  to  enclose 
their  bodies,  was  made  in  the  massive  wall  of  the  convent ;  a 
slender  pittance  of  food  and  water  was  deposited  in  it,  and  the 
awful  words,  Vade  in  Pace,  were  the  signal  for  immuring  the 
criminal.  It  is  not  likely  that,  in  latter  times,  this  punishment 
was  often  resorted  to ;  but,  among  the  ruins  of  the  abbey  of 
Coldingham,  were  some  years  ago  discovered  the  remains  of  a 
female  skeleton,  which,  from  the  shape  of  the  niche,  and  posi- 
tion of  the  figure,  seemed  to  be  that  of  an  immured  nun. 

The  Edinburgh  Reviewer,  on  st.  xxxii.  post,  suggests  that 
the  proper  reading  of  the  sentence  is  vade  in  pacem  —  not  part 
in  peace,  but  go  into  peace,  or  into  eternal  rest,  a  pretty  intel- 
ligible mittimus  to  another  world. 


88  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

Nought  but  imperfect  murmurs  slip 
From  her  convulsed  and  quivering  lip ; 
'Twixt  each  attempt  all  was  so  still, 
You  seem'd  to  hear  a  distant  rill  — 

'Twas  ocean's  swells  and  falls ; 
For  though  this  vault  of  sin  and  fear 
Was  to  the  sounding  surge  so  near, 
A  tempest  there  you  scarce  could  hear, 
So  massive  were  the  walls. 


XXVI. 

At  length,  an  effort  sent  apart 
The  blood  that  curdled  to  her  heart, 

And  light  came  to  her  eye, 
And  colour  dawn'd  upon  her  cheek, 
A  hectic  and  a  flutter'd  streak,1 
Like  that  left  on  the  Cheviot  peak, 

By  Autumn's  stormy  sky ; 
And  when  her  silence  broke  at  length, 
Still  as  she  spoke  she  gather'd  strength, 

And  arm'd  herself  to  bear.2 
It  was  a  fearful  sight  to  see 


1  MS. — "  A  feeble  and  a  flutter'd  streak, 

Like  that  with  which  the  mornings  break 
In  Autumn's  sober  sky." 

2  Mr.  S.  has  judiciously  combined  the  horrors  of  the  pun- 
ishment with  a  very  beautiful  picture  of  the  offender,  so  as 
to  heighten  the  interest  which  the  situation  itself  must  neces- 
sarily excite ;  and  the  struggle  of  Constance  to  speak,  before 
the  fatal  sentence,  is  finely  painted. —  Monthly  Eeoiew. 


Canto  II.  THE   CONVENT.  89 

Such  high  resolve  and  constancy, 
In  form  so  soft  and  fair.1 

XXVII. 

"  I  speak  not  to  implore  your  grace,2 
Well' know  I,  for  one  minute's  space 

Successless  might  I  sue : 
Nor  do  I  speak  your  prayers  to  gain ; 
For  if  a  death  of  lingering  pain, 
To  cleanse  my  sins,  be  penance  vain, 

Vain  are  your  masses  too.  — 

1  MS. — "  And  mann'd  herself  to  bear. 
It  was  a  fearful  thing  to  see 
Such  high  resolve  and  constancy, 

In  form  so  soft  and  fair  ; 
Like  Summer' 's  dew  her  accents  fell, 
But  dreadful  was  her  tale  to  tell." 
3  MS. — "  I  speak  not  now  to  sue  for  grace, 

For  well  I  know  one  minute's  space 

Your  mercy  scarce  would  grant : 
Nor  do  I  speak  your  prayers  to  gain ; 
For  if  my  penance  be  in  vain, 

Your  prayers  I  cannot  want. 
Full  well  I  know  the  church's  doom, 
What  time  I  left  a  convent's  gloom, 

To  fly  with  him  I  loved  ; 
And  well  my  folly's  meed  he  gave  — 
I  forfeited,  to  be  a  slave, 
All  here,  and  all  beyond  the  grave, 

And  faithless  hath  he  proved  ; 
He  saw  another's  face  more  fair, 
He  saw  her  of  broad  lands  the  heir, 

And  Constance  lov'd  no  more  — 
Lov'd  her  no  more,  who,  once  Heaven's  bride, 
Now  a  scorned  menial  by  his  side, 

Had  wander'd  Europe  o'er." 


po  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

I  listen'd  to  a  traitor's  tale, 

I  left  the  convent  and  the  veil ; 

For  three  long  years  I  bow'd  my  pride, 

A  horse-boy  in  his  train  to  ride ; 

And  well  my  folly's  meed  he  gave, 

Who  forfeited,  to  be  his  slave, 

All  here,  and  all  beyond  the  grave.  — 

He  saw  young  Clara's  face  more  fair, 

He  knew  her  of  broad  lands  the  heir, 

Forgot  his  vows,  his  faith  forswore, 

And  Constance  was  beloved  no  more.  — 

'Tis  an  old  tale,  and  often  told ; 
But  did  my  fate  and  wish  agree, 

Ne'er  had  been  read,  in  story  old, 

Of  maiden  true  betray'd  for  gold, 
That  loved,  or  was  avenged,  like  me ! 

XXVIII. 

"  The  King  approved  his  favourite's  aim ; 
In  vain  a  rival  barr'd  his  claim, 

Whose  fate  with  Clare's  was  plight, 
For  he  attaints  that  rival's  fame 
With  treason's  charge  —  and  on  they  came, 
In  mortal  lists  to  fight. 
Their  oaths  are  said, 
Their  prayers  are  pray'd, 
Their  lances  in  the  rest  are  laid, 
They  meet  in  mortal  shock ; 
And,  hark !  the  throng,  with  thundering  cry, 
Shout <  Marmion,  Marmion !  to  the  sky, 
De  Wilton  to  the  block ! ' 


Canto  II.  THE    CONVENT.  91 

Say  ye,  who  preach  Heaven  shall  decide J 
When  in  the  lists  two  champions  ride, 

Say,  was  Heaven's  justice  here  ? 
When,  loyal  in  his  love  and  faith, 
Wilton  found  overthrow  or  death, 

Beneath  a  traitor's  spear  ? 
How  false  the  charge,  how  true  he  fell, 
This  guilty  packet  best  can  tell."  — 
Then  drew  a  packet  from  her  breast, 
Paused,  gather'd  voice,  and  spoke  the  rest. 

XXIX. 

"  Still  was  false  Marmion's  bridal  staid ; 
To  Whitby's  convent  fled  the  maid, 

The  hated  match  to  shun. 
'  Ho !  shifts  she  thus  ? '  King  Henry  cried, 
'  Sir  Marmion,  she  shall  be  thy  bride, 

If  she  were  sworn  a  nun.' 
One  way  remain'd  —  the  King's  command 
Sent  Marmion  to  the  Scottish  land : 
I  linger'd  here,  and  rescue  plann'd 

For  Clara  and  for  me : 
This  caitiff  Monk,  for  gold,  did  swear, 
He  would  to  Whitby's  shrine  repair, 
And,  by  his  drugs,  my  rival  fair 
A  saint  in  heaven  should  be. 
But  ill  the  dastard  kept  his  oath, 
Whose  cowardice  has  undone  us  both. 

1  MS. — "  Say  ye,  who  preach  the  heavens  decide 
When  in  the  lists  the  warriors  ride." 


92  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

XXX. 

"  And  now  my  tongue  the  secret  tells, 
Not  that  remorse  my  bosom  swells, 
But  to  assure  my  soul  that  none 
Shall  ever  wed  with  Marmion.1 
Had  fortune  my  last  hope  betray'd, 
This  packet,  to  the  King  convey'd, 
Had  given  him  to  the  headsman's  stroke, 
Although  my  heart  that  instant  broke.  — 
Now,  men  of  death,  work  forth  your  will, 
For  I  can  suffer,  and  be  still ; 
And  come  he  slow,  or  come  he  fast, 
It  is  but  Death  who  comes  at  last. 

XXXI. 

"  Yet  dread  me,  from  my  living  tomb, 
Ye  vassal  slaves  of  bloody  Eome ! 
If  Marmion's  late  remorse  should  wake, 
Full  soon  such  vengeance  will  he  take, 
That  you  shall  wish  the  fiery  Dane 
Had  rather  been  your  guest  again. 
Behind,  a  darker  hour  ascends ! 
The  altars  quake,  the  crosier  bends, 
The  ire  of  a  despotic  King 
Hides  forth  upon  destruction's  wing ; 
Then  shall  these  vaults,  so  strong  and  deep, 
Burst  open  to  the  sea- winds'  sweep ; 
Some  traveller  then  shall  find  my  bones 
Whitening  amid  disjointed  stones, 

1  The  MS.  adds  :  "  His  schemes  reveal'd,  his  honour  gone." 


Canto  II.  THE   CONVENT.  93 

And,  ignorant  of  priests'  cruelty,1 
Marvel  such  relics  here  should  ba" 


XXXIL 

Fix'd  was  her  look,  and  stern  her  air : 
Back  from  her  shoulders  streain'd  her  hair ; 
The  locks,  that  wont  her  brow  to  shade, 
Stared  up  erectly  from  her  head ; 2 
Her  figure  seem'd  to  rise  more  high ; 
Her  voice,  despair's  wild  energy 
Had  given  a  tone  of  prophecy. 
Appall'd  the  astonish'd  conclave  sate ; 
With  stupid  eyes,  the  men  of  fate 
Gazed  on  the  light  inspired  form, 
And  listen'd  for  the  avenging  storm ; 
The  judges  felt  the  victim's  dread ; 
No  hand  was  moved,  no  word  was  said, 
Till  thus  the  Abbot's  doom  was  given, 
Eaising  his  sightless  balls  to  heaven :  — 
"  Sister,  let  thy  sorrows  cease  ; 
Sinful  brother,  part  in  peace ! "  3 

From  that  dire  dungeon,  place  of  doom, 

Of  execution  too,  and  tomb, 
Paced  forth  the  judges  three ; 

Sorrow  it  were,  and  shame,  to  tell 

The  butcher-work  that  there  befell, 

1  MS.  —  "  And,  witless  of  priests'  cruelty.'" 

*  MS.  —  «  Stared  up  {  ^V™?    I  from  her  head. » 

(  uncurling  \ 

*  See  Note  on  Stanza  xxv. 


94  MARMION.  Canto  II. 

When  they  had  glided  from  the  cell 
Of  sin  and  misery. 


XXXIII. 

An  hundred  winding  steps  convey 
That  conclave  to  the  upper  day ; 1 
But,  ere  they  breathed  the  fresher  air, 
They  heard  the  shriekings  of  despair, 

And  many  a  stifled  groan : 
With  speed  their  upward  way  they  take, 
(Such  speed  as  age  and  fear  can  make,) 
And  cross'd  themselves  for  terror's  sake, 

As  hurrying,  tottering  on : 
Even  in  the  vesper's  heavenly  tone,2 
They  seem'd  to  hear  a  dying  groan, 
And  bade  the  passing  knell  to  toll 
For  welfare  of  a  parting  soul. 
Slow  o'er  the  midnight  wave  it  swung, 
Northumbrian  rocks  in  answer  rung ; 
To  Warkworth  cell  the  echoes  roll'd, 
His  beads  the  wakeful  hermit  told, 

1  MS.  —  "From  that  dark  penance  vault  to  day." 

2  MS.  —  "  That  night  amid  the  vesper's  swell, 

They  thought  they  heard  Constantia's  yell, 
And  bade  the  mighty  bell  to  toll, 
For  welfare  of  a  passing  soul." 

The  sound  of  the  knell  that  was  rung  for  the  parting  soul 
of  this  victim  of  seduction,  is  described  with  great  force  and 
solemnity.  — Jeffrey. 

The  whole  of  this  trial  and  doom  presents  a  high-wrought 
scene  of  horror,  which,  at  the  close,  rises  almost  to  too  great  a 
pitch.  — Scots  Mag.,  March,  1808. 


Canto  II.  THE  CONVENT.  95 

The  Bamborough  peasant  raised  his  head, 
But  slept  ere  half  a  prayer  he  said ; 
So  far  was  heard  the  mighty  knell, 
The  stag  sprung  up  on  Cheviot  Fell, 
Spread  his  broad  nostril  to  the  wind, 
Listed  before,  aside,  behind, 
Then  couch'd  him  down  beside  the  hind, 
And  quaked  among  the  mountain  fern, 
To  hear  that  sound,  so  dull  and  stern. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  THIRD. 


To  William  Erskine, 

Ashestiel,  Ettrick  Forest. 
LIKE  April  morning  clouds,  that  pass, 
With  varying  shadow,  o'er  the  grass, 
And  imitate,  on  field  and  furrow, 
Life's  chequer'd  scene  of  joy  and  sorrow ; 
Like  streamlet  of  the  mountain  north, 
Now  in  a  torrent  racing  forth, 
Now  winding  slow  its  silver  train, 
And  almost  slumbering  on  the  plain ; 
Like  breezes  of  the  autumn  day, 
Whose  voice  inconstant  dies  away, 
And  ever  swells  again  as  fast, 
When  the  ear  deems  its  murmur  past ; 

1  William  Erskine,  Esq.,  advocate,  Sheriff-depute  of  the  Ork- 
neys, became  a  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Session  by  the  title  of 
Lord  Kinnedder,  and  died  at  Edinburgh  in  August,  1822.  He 
had  been  from  early  youth  the  most  intimate  of  the  Poet's 
friends,  and  his  chief  confidant  and  adviser  as  to  all  literary 
matters.  See  a  notice  of  his  life  and  character  by  the  late  Mr. 
Hay  Donaldson,  to  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  contributed  several 
paragraphs. —  ED. 

7  97 


98  MARMION. 

Thus  various,  my  romantic  theme 
Flits,  winds,  or  sinks,  a  morning  dream. 
Yet  pleased,  our  eye  pursues  the  trace 
Of  Light  and  Shade's  inconstant  race; 
Pleased,  views  the  rivulet  afar, 
Weaving  its  maze  irregular ; 
And  pleased,  we  listen  as  the  breeze 
Heaves  its  wild  sigh  through  Autumn  trees ; 
Then,  wild  as  cloud,  or  stream,  or  gale, 
Flow  on,  flow  unconfined,  my  Tale ! 

Need  I  to  thee,  dear  Erskine,  tell 
I  love  the  license  all  too  well, 
In  sounds  now  lowly,  and  now  strong, 
To  raise  the  desultory  song  ?  — 1 
Oft,  when  'mid  such  capricious  chime, 
Some  transient  fit  of  lofty  rhyme 
To  thy  kind  judgment  seem'd  excuse 
For  many  an  error  of  the  muse, 
Oft  hast  thou  said,  "  If,  still  misspent, 
Thine  hours  to  poetry  are  lent,2 
Go,  and  to  tame  thy  wandering  course, 
Quaff  from  the  fountain  at  the  source ; 
Approach  those  masters,  o'er  whose  tomb 
Immortal  laurels  ever  bloom : 
Instructive  of  the  feebler  bard, 
Still  from  the  grave  their  voice  is  heard ; 

1  MS. — "  With  sound  now  lowly,  and  now  higher, 

Irregular  to  wake  the  lyre." 

2  MS. — "  Thine  hours  to  thriftless  rhyme  are  lent." 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   THIRD.         99 

From  them,  and  from  the  paths  they  showed, 
Choose  honour'd  guide  and  practised  road ; 
Nor  ramble  on  through  brake  and  maze, 
With  harpers  rude  of  barbarous  days. 


"  Or  deem'st  thou  not  our  later  time 1 
Yields  topic  meet  for  classic  rhyme  ? 
Hast  thou  no  elegiac  verse 
For  Brunswick's  venerable  hearse  ? 
What !  not  a  line,  a  tear,  a  sigh, 
When  valour  bleeds  for  liberty  ?  — 
Oh,  hero  of  that  glorious  time, 
When,  with  unrivaU'd  light  sublime,  — 
Though  martial  Austria,  and  though  all 
The  might  of  Russia,  and  the  Gaul, 
Though  banded  Europe  stood  her  foes  — 
The  star  of  Brandenburgh  arose ! 
Thou  couldst  not  live  to  see  her  beam 
For  ever  quench'd  in  Jena's  stream. 
Lamented  Chief  !  —  it  was  not  given 
To  thee  to  change  the  doom  of  Heaven, 
And  crush  that  dragon  in  its  birth, 
Predestined  scourge  of  guilty  earth. 


1  MS. — "  Dost  thou  not  deem  our  later  day 
Yields  topic  meet  for  classic  lay  ? 
Hast  thou  no  elegiac  tone 
To  join  that  universal  moan, 
Which  mingled  with  the  battle's  yell, 
Where  venerable  Brunswick  fell  ?  — 
What !  not  a  verse,  a  tear,  a  sigh, 
When  valour  bleeds  for  liberty  ?  " 


loo  MARMION. 

Lamented  Chief !  —  not  thine  the  power, 
To  save  in  that  presumptuous  hour, 
When  Prussia  hurried  to  the  field, 
And  snatch'd  the  spear,  but  left  the  shield  ! 
Valour  and  skill  'twas  thine  to  try, 
And,  tried  in  vain,  'twas  thine  to  die. 
Ill  had  it  seem'd  thy  silver  hair 
The  last,  the  bitterest  pang  to  share, 
For  princedoms  reft,  and  scutcheons  riven, 
And  birthrights  to  usurpers  given  ; 
Thy  land's,  thy  children's  wrongs  to  feel, 
And  witness  woes  thou  couldst  not  heal ! 
On  thee  relenting  Heaven  bestows 
For  honour'd  lif  e  an  honour'd  close ; l 
And  when  revolves,  in  time's  sure  change, 
The  hour  of  Germany's  revenge, 
When,  breathing  fury  for  her  sake, 
Some  new  Arminius  shall  awake, 

. — "For  honour'd  life  an  honour'd  close  — 
The  boon  which  falling  heroes  crave, 
A  soldier's  death,  a  warrior's  grave. 
Or  if,  with  more  exulting  swell, 
Of  conquering  chiefs  thou  lovest  to  tell, 
Give  to  the  harp  an  unheard  strain, 
And  sing  the  triumphs  of  the  main  — 
Of  him  the  Eed-Cross  hero  teach, 
Dauntless  on  Acre's  bloody  breach, 
And,  scorner  of  tyrannic  power, 
As  dauntless  in  the  Temple's  tower  : 
Alike  to  him  the  sea,  the  shore, 
The  brand,  the  bridle,  or  the  oar, 
The  general's  eye,  the  pilot's  art, 
The  soldier's  arm,  the  sailor's  heart. 
Or  if  to  touch  such  chord  be  thine,"  etc. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   THIRD.        101 

Her  champion,  ere  he  strike,  shall  come 
To  whet  his  sword  on  Brunswick's  tomb. 

"  Or  of  the  Red-Cross  hero *  teach 
Dauntless  in  dungeon  as  on  breach 
Alike  to  him  the  sea,  the  shore, 
The  brand,  the  bridle,  or  the  oar : 
Alike  to  him  the  war  that  calls 
Its  votaries  to  the  shatter'd  walls, 
Which  the  grim  Turk,  besmear'd  with  blood, 
Against  the  Invincible  made  good ; 
Or  that,  whose  thundering  voice  could  wake 
The  silence  of  the  polar  lake, 
When  stubborn  Euss,  and  metal'd  Swede, 
On  the  warp'd  wave  their  death-game  play'd ; 
Or  that,  where  Vengeance  and  Affright 
Howl'd  round  the  father  of  the  fight, 
Who  snatch'd,  on  Alexandria's  sand, 
The  conqueror's  wreath  with  dying  hand.2 

"  Or,  if  to  touch  such  chord  be  thine, 
Restore  the  ancient  tragic  line, 
And  emulate  the  notes  that  rung 
From  the  wild  harp,  which  silent  hung 
By  silver  Avon's  holy  shore, 
Till  twice  an  hundred  years  roll'd  o'er ; 
When  she,  the  bold  Enchantress,3  came, 
With  fearless  hand  and  heart  on  flame ! 
From  the  pale  willow  snatch'd  the  treasure, 
And  swept  it  with  a  kindred  measure, 

1  Sir  Sidney  Smith.  a  Sir  Ralph  Abercromby. 

*  Joanna  Baillie. 


102  MARMION 

Till  Avon's  swans,  while  rung  the  grove 
"With  Montfort's  hate  and  Basil's  love, 
Awakening  at  the  inspired  strain, 
Deem'd  their  own  Shakespeare  lived  again  " 

Thy  friendship  thus  thy  judgment  wronging, 
With  praises  not  to  me  belonging, 
In  task  more  meet  for  mightiest  powers, 
Wouldst  thou  engage  my  thriftless  hours. 
But  say,  my  Erskine,  hast  thou  weigh'd 
That  secret  power  by  all  obey'd, 
Which  warps  not  less  the  passive  mind, 
Its  source  conceal'd  or  undefined ; 
Whether  an  impulse,  that  has  birth 
Soon  as  the  infant  wakes  on  earth, 
One  with  our  feelings  and  our  powers, 
And  rather  part  of  us  than  ours ; 
Or  whether  fitlier  term'd  the  sway 
Of  habit,  form'd  in  early  day  ? 
Howe'er  derived,  its  force  confest 
Rules  with  despotic  sway  the  breast, 
And  drags  us  on  by  viewless  chain, 
While  taste  and  reason  plead  in  vain.1 


1  As  man,  perhaps,  the  moment  of  his  breath, 
Receives  the  lurking  principle  of  death  ; 
The  young  disease,  that  must  subdue  at  length, 
Grows  with  his  growth,  and  strengthens  with  his  strength 
So,  cast  and  mingled  with  his  very  frame, 
The  Mind's  disease,  its  Ruling  Passion  came  ; 
Each  vital  humour  which  should  feed  the  whole, 
Soon  flows  to  this,  in  body  and  in  soul : 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   THIRD.       103 

Look  east,  and  ask  the  Belgian  why, 
Beneath  Batavia's  sultry  sky, 
He  seeks  not  eager  to  inhale 
The  freshness  of  the  mountain  gale, 
Content  to  rear  his  whiten'd  wall 
Beside  the  dank  and  dull  canal  ? 
He'll  say,  from  youth  he  loved  to  see 
The  white  sail  gliding  by  the  tree. 
Or  see  yon  weatherbeaten  hind, 
Whose  sluggish  herds  before  him  wind, 
Whose  tatter'd  plaid  and  rugged  cheek 
His  northern  clime  and  kindred  speak ; 
Through  England's  laughing  meads  he  goes, 
And  England's  wealth  around  him  flows ; 
Ask,  if  it  would  content  him  well, 
At  ease  in  those  gay  plains  to  dwell, 
Where  hedge-rows  spread  a  verdant  screen, 
And  spires  and  forests  intervene, 
And  the  neat  cottage  peeps  between  ? 
No !  not  for  these  will  he  exchange 
His  dark  Lochaber's  boundless  range ; 
Not  for  fair  Devon's  meads  forsake 
Bennevis  gray,  and  Garry's  lake. 

Whatever  warms  the  heart,  or  fills  the  head, 

As  the  mind  opens,  and  its  functions  spread, 

Imagination  plies  her  dangerous  art, 

And  pours  it  all  upon  the  peccant  part. 

Nature  its  mother,  Habit  is  its  nurse  ; 

Wit,  Spirit,  Faculties,  but  make  it  worse  ; 

Reason  itself  but  gives  it  edge  and  power  ; 

As  Heaven's  blest  beam  turns  vinegar  more  sour,  etc. 

—  Pope's  Essay  on  Man* 


104  MARMION. 

Thus  while  I  ape  the  measure  wild 
Of  tales  that  charm'd  me  yet  a  child, 
Kude  though  they  be,  still  with  the  chime 
Return  the  thoughts  of  early  time ; 
And  feelings,  roused  in  life's  first  day, 
Glow  in  the  line,  and  prompt  the  lay. 
Then  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tower, 
Which  charm'd  my  fancy's  wakening  hour.1 
Though  no  broad  river  swept  along, 
To  claim,  perchance,  heroic  song ; 
Though  sigh'd  no  groves  in  summer  gale, 
To  prompt  of  love  a  softer  tale ; 
Though  scarce  a  puny  streamlet's  speed 
Claim'd  homage  from  a  shepherd's  reed ; 
Yet  was  poetic  impulse  given, 
By  the  green  hill  and  clear  blue  heaven. 
It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild, 
Where  naked  cliffs  were  rudely  piled ; 
But  ever  and  anon  between 
Lay  velvet  tufts  of  loveliest  green ; 
And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 
Recesses  where  the  wall-flower  grew,2 
And  honeysuckle  loved  to  crawl 
Up  the  low  crag  and  ruin'd  wall. 
I  deem'd  such  nooks  the  sweetest  shade 
The  sun  in  all  its  round  survey'd ; 
And  still  I  thought  that  shatter'd  tower 3 

1  MS.  —  "  The  lonely  hill,  the  rocky  tower, 

That  caught  attention's  wakening  hour." 
2 MS.  —  "  Recesses  where  the  woodbine  grew." 
aSmailholm  Tower,  in  Berwickshire,  the  scene  of  the  au- 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   THIRD.       105 

The  mightiest  work  of  human  power; 

And  marvell'd  as  the  aged  hind 

With  some  strange  tale  bewitch'd  my  mind, 

Of  forayers,  who,  with  headlong  force, 

Down  from  that  strength  had  spurr'd  their  horse, 

Their  southern  rapine  to  renew, 

Far  in  the  distant  Cheviots  blue, 

And,  home  returning,  fill'd  the  hall 

With  revel,  wassel-rout,  and  brawl.1 

Methought  that  still  with  trump  and  clang, 

The  gateway's  broken  arches  rang ; 

Methought  grim  features,  seam'd  with  scars, 

Glared  through  the  window's  rusty  bars, 

And  ever,  by  the  winter  hearth, 

Old  tales  I  heard  of  woe  or  mirth, 

Of  lovers'  slights,  of  ladies'  charms, 

Of  witches'  spells,  of  warriors'  arms ; 

Of  patriot  battles,  won  of  old 

By  Wallace  wight  and  Bruce  the  bold ; 

Of  later  fields  of  feud  and  fight, 

When,  pouring  from  their  Highland  height, 

The  Scottish  clans,  in  headlong  sway, 

Had  swept  the  scarlet  ranks  away. 

While  stretch'd  at  length  upon  the  floor,2 

Again  I  fought  each  combat  o'er, 

thor's  infan«y,  is  situated  about  two  miles  from  Dryburgh 
Abbey. 

1  The  two  next  couplets  are  not  in  the  MS. 
a  MS.  —  "  While  still  with  mimic  hosts  of  shells, 
Again  my  sport  the  combat  tells  — 
Onward  the  Scottish  Lion  bore, 
The  scatter'd  Southron  fled  before." 


106  MARMION. 

Pebbles  and  shells,  in  order  laid, 
The  mimic  ranks  of  war  display'd ; 
And  onward  still  the  Scottish  Lion  bore, 
And  still  the  scatter'd  Southron  fled  before.1 

Still,  with  vain  fondness,  could  I  trace, 
Anew,  each  kind  familiar  face, 
That  brighten'd  at  our  evening  fire ! 
From  the  thatch'd  mansion's  gray-hair'd  Sire,2 
Wise  without  learning,  plain  and  good, 
And  sprung  of  Scotland's  gentler  blood ; 
Whose  eye,  in  age,  quick,  clear,  and  keen, 
Show'd  what  in  youth  its  glance  had  been ; 
Whose  doom  discording  neighbours  sought, 
Content  with  equity  unbought ; 3 
To  him  the  venerable  Priest, 
Our  frequent  and  familiar  guest, 
Whose  life  and  manners  well  could  paint 
Alike  the  student  and  the  saint ; 4 

1  See  notes  on  The  Eve  of  St.  John,  in  the  Border  Minstrelsy* 
vol.  iv. ;  and  the  Author's  Introduction  to  the  Minstrelsy,  vol.  i. 

2  Robert  Scott  of  Sandyknows,  the  grandfather  of  the  poet. 

8  Upon  revising  the  poem,  it  seems  proper  to  mention  that 
the  lines, 

"  Whose  doom  discording  neighbours  sought, 
Content  with  equity  unbought ;  " 

have  been  unconsciously  borrowed  from  a  passage  in  Dryden's 

beautiful  epistle  to  John  Driden  of  Chesterton.  — 1808.     Note 

to  Second  Edit. 

*MS.  —  "  The  student,  gentleman,  and  saint." 

The  reverend  gentleman  alluded  to  was  Mr.  John  Martin, 

minister  of  Mertoun,  in  which  parish  Smailholm  Tower  is 

situated. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   THIRD.        107 

Alas !  whose  speech  too  oft  I  broke 
With  gambol  rude  and  timeless  joke : 
For  I  was  wayward,  bold,  and  wild, 
A  self-will'd  imp,  a  grandame's  child ; 
But  half  a  plague,  and  half  a  jest, 
Was  still  endured,  beloved,  caress'd. 

For  me,  thus  nurtured,  dost  thou  ask 
The  classic  poet's  well-conn'd  task  ? 
Nay,  Erskine,  nay  —  On  the  wild  hill 
Let  the  wild  heath-bell  nourish  still ; 
Cherish  the  tulip,  prune  the  vine, 
But  freely  let  the  woodbine  twine, 
And  leave  untrimm'd  the  eglantine : 
Nay,  my  friend,  nay  —  Since  oft  thy  praise 
Hath  given  fresh  vigour  to  my  lays ; 
Since  oft  thy  judgment  could  refine 
My  flatten'd  thought,  or  cumbrous  line ; 
Still  kind,  as  is  thy  wont,  attend, 
And  in  the  minstrel  spare  the  friend. 
Though  wild  as  cloud,  as  stream,  as  gale, 
Flow  forth,  flow  unrestrain'd,  my  Tale ! 


MARMION. 

CANTO   THIRD. 


THE   HOSTEL,   OR   INN. 


THE  livelong  day  Lord  Marmion  rode : 
The  mountain  path  the  Palmer  shoVd 
By  glen  and  streamlet  winded  still, 
Where  stunted  birches  hid  the  rilL 
They  might  not  choose  the  lowland  road,1 
For  the  Merse  forayers  were  abroad, 
Who,  fired  with  hate  and  thirst  of  prey, 
Had  scarcely  fail'd  to  bar  their  way. 
Oft  on  the  trampling  band,  from  crown 
Of  some  tall  cliff,  the  deer  look'd  down ; 
On  wing  of  jet,  from  his  repose 
In  the  deep  heath,  the  black-cock  rose ; 
Sprung  from  the  gorse  the  timid  roe, 
Nor  waited  for  the  bending  bow ; 
And  when  the  stony  path  began, 

1  MS.  —  "  They  might  not  choose  the  easier  road, 
For  many  a  foray  er  was  abroad." 
109 


no  MARMION.  Canto  II I. 

By  which  the  naked  peak  they  wan, 

Up  flew  the  snowy  ptarmigan. 

The  noon  had  long  been  pass'd  before 

They  gain'd  the  height  of  Lammermoor ; 1 

Thence  winding  down  the  northern  way, 

Before  them,  at  the  close  of  day, 

Old  Gifford's  towers  and  hamlet  lay.2 

II. 

No  summons  calls  them  to  the  tower, 

To  spend  the  hospitable  hour. 

To  Scotland's  camp  the  Lord  was  gone ; 

His  cautious  dame,  in  bower  alone, 

Dreaded  her  castle  to  unclose, 

So  late,  to  unknown  friends  or  foes. 
On  through  the  hamlet  as  they  paced, 
Before  a  porch,  whose  front  was  graced 
With  bush  and  flagon  trimly  placed, 

Lord  Marmion  drew  his  rein : 
The  village  inn  seem'd  large,  though  rude ; 3 

1  See  notes  to  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor.    Waverley  Novels. 

8  The  village  of  Gifford  lies  about  four  miles  from  Hadding- 
ton ;  close  to  it  is  Tester  House,  the  seat  of  the  Marquis  of 
Tweeddale,  and  a  little  farther  up  the  stream,  which  descends 
from  the  hills  of  Lammermoor,  are  the  remains  of  the  old  castle 
of  the  family. 

8  The  accommodations  of  a  Scottish  hostelrie,  or  inn,  in  the 
16th  century,  may  be  collected  from  Dunbar's  admirable  tale 
of  The  Friars  of  Berwick.  Simon  Lawder,  "the  gay  ostlier," 
seems  to  have  lived  very  comfortably  ;  and  his  wife  decorated 
her  person  with  a  scarlet  kirtle,  and  a  belt  of  silk  and  silver, 
and  rings  upon  her  fingers ;  and  feasted  her  paramour  with 
rabbits,  capons,  partridges,  and  Bordeaux  wine.  At  least,  if 


Canto  III.         THE   HOSTEL,   OR   INN.  HI 

Its  cheerful  fire  and  hearty  food 

Might  well  relieve  his  train. 
Down  from  their  seats  the  horsemen  sprung, 
With  jingling  spurs  the  courtyard  rung ; 
They  bind  their  horses  to  the  stall, 
For  forage,  food,  and  firing  call, 
And  various  clamour  fills  the  hall : 
Weighing  the  labour  with  the  cost, 
Toils  everywhere  the  bustling  host. 

Ill 

Soon,  by  the  chimney's  merry  blaze, 
Through  the  rude  hostel  might  you  gaze ; 
Might  see,  where,  in  dark  nook  aloof, 
The  rafters  of  the  sooty  roof 

Bore  wealth  of  winter  cheer ; 
Of  sea-fowl  dried,  and  solands  store, 
And  gammons  of  the  tusky  boar, 

And  savoury  haunch  of  deer. 

the  Scottish  inns  were  not  good,  it  was  not  for  want  of  encour- 
agement from  the  legislature  ;  who,  so  early  as  the  reign  of 
James  I.,  not  only  enacted  that  in  all  boroughs  and  fairs  there 
be  hostellaries,  having  stables  and  chambers,  and  provision  for 
man  and  horse,  but  by  another  statute  ordained  that  no  man, 
travelling  on  horse  or  foot,  should  presume  to  lodge  anywhere 
except  in  these  hostellaries ;  and  that  no  person,  save  innkeep- 
ers, should  receive  such  travellers,  under  the  penalty  of  forty 
shillings,  for  exercising  such  hospitality.1  But,  in  spite  of 
these  provident  enactments,  the  Scottish  hostels  are  but  indif- 
ferent, and  strangers  continue  to  find  reception  in  the  houses 
of  individuals. 

1  James  I.  Parliament  I.  cap.  24  ;  Parliament  III.  cap.  66. 


112  MARMION.  Canto  III. 

The  chimney  arch  projected  wide ; 
Above,  around  it,  and  beside, 

Were  tools  for  housewives'  hand ; 
Nor  wanted,  in  that  martial  day, 
The  implements  of  Scottish  fray, 

The  buckler,  lance,  and  brand. 
Beneath  its  shade,  the  place  of  state, 
On  oaken  settle  Marmion  sate, 
And  view'd  around  the  blazing  hearth. 
His  followers  mix  in  noisy  mirth ; 
Whom  with  brown  ale,  in  jolly  tide, 
From  ancient  vessels  ranged  aside, 
Full  actively  their  host  supplied. 

IV. 

Theirs  was  the  glee  of  martial  breast, 
And  laughter  theirs  at  little  jest ; 
And  oft  Lord  Marmion  deign'd  to  aid, 
And  mingle  in  the  mirth  they  made ; 
For  though,  with  men  of  high  degree, 
The  proudest  of  the  proud  was  he, 
Yet,  train'd  in  camps,  he  knew  the  art 
To  win  the  soldier's  hardy  heart. 
They  love  a  captain  to  obey, 
Boisterous  as  March,  yet  fresh  as  May ; 
With  open  hand,  and  brow  as  free, 
Lover  of  wine  and  minstrelsy ; 
Ever  the  first  to  scale  a  tower, 
As  venturous  in  a  lady's  bower :  — 
Such  buxom  chief  shall  lead  his  heart 
From  India's  fires  to  Zembla's  frost. 


Canto  III.         THE   HOSTEL,   OR  INN.  113 

V. 

Resting  upon  his  pilgrim  staff, 

Right  opposite  the  Palmer  stood ; 
His  thin  dark  visage  seen  but  half, 

Half  hidden  by  his  hood. 
Still  fix'd  on  Marmion  was  his  look, 
Which  he,  who  ill  such  gaze  could  brook, 

Strove  by  a  frown  to  quell ; 
But  not  for  that,  though  more  than  once 
Full  met  their  stern  encountering  glance,1 

The  Palmer's  visage  felL 

VI. 

By  fits  less  frequent  from  the  crowd 
Was  heard  the  burst  of  laughter  loud ; 
For  still,  as  squire  and  archer  stared 
On  that  dark  face  and  matted  beard, 

Their  glee  and  game  declined. 
All  gazed  at  length  in  silence  drear, 
Unbroke,  save  when  in  comrade's  ear 
Some  yeoman,  wondering  in  his  fear, 

Thus  whisper'd  forth  his  mind :  — 
«  Saint  Mary  !  saVst  thou  e'er  such  sight  ? 
How  pale  his  cheek,  his  eye  how  bright, 
Whene'er  the  firebrand's  fickle  light 

Glances  beneath  his  cowl ! 
Full  on  our  Lord  he  sets  his  eye ; 
For  his  best  palfrey,  would  not  I 

Endure  that  sullen  scowl" 

1  MS.  —  "  Full  met  their  eyes'  encountering  glance.'* 
8 


II4  MARMION.  Canto  III. 

VII. 

But  Marmion,  as  to  chase  the  awe 

Which  thus  had  quell'd  their  hearts,  who  saw 

The  ever-varying  firelight  show 

That  figure  stern  and  face  of  woe, 

Now  call'd  upon  a  squire :  — 
*  Fitz-Eustace,  know'st  thou  not  some  lay, 
To  speed  the  lingering  night  away  ? 

We  slumber  by  the  fire."  — 

VIII. 

"  So  please  you,"  thus  the  youth  rejoin'd, 
"  Our  choicest  minstrel's  left  behind. 

Ill  may  we  hope  to  please  your  ear, 

Accustom'd  Constant's  strains  to  hear. 

The  harp  full  deftly  can  he  strike, 

And  wake  the  lover's  lute  alike ; 

To  dear  Saint  Valentine,  no  thrush 

Sings  livelier  from  a  springtide  bush, 

No  nightingale  her  love-lorn  tune 

More  sweetly  warbles  to  the  moon. 

Woe  to  the  cause,  whate'er  it  be, 

Detains  from  us  his  melody, 

Lavish'd  on  rocks,  and  billows  stern, 

Or  duller  monks  of  Lindisfarne. 

Now  must  I  venture,  as  I  may, 

To  sing  his  favourite  roundelay." 

IX. 

A  mellow  voice  Fitz-Eustace  had, 
The  air  he  chose  was  wild  and  sad ; 


Canto  III.         THE   HOSTEL,    OR   INN.  115 

Such  have  I  heard,  in  Scottish  land, 
Eise  from  the  busy  harvest  band, 
When  falls  before  the  mountaineer, 
On  Lowland  plains,  the  ripen'd  ear. 
Now  one  shrill  voice  the  notes  prolong, 
Now  a  wild  chorus  swells  the  song : 
Oft  have  I  listen'd,  and  stood  still, 
As  it  came  soften'd  up  the  hill, 
And  deem'd  it  the  lament  of  men 
Who  languish'd  for  their  native  glen ; 
And  thought  how  sad  would  be  such  sound, 
On  Susquehana's  swampy  ground, 
Kentucky's  wood-encumber'd  brake, 
Or  wild  Ontario's  boundless  lake, 
Where  heart-sick  exiles,  in  the  strain, 
RecalTd  fair  Scotland's  hills  again ! 

X. 

SONG. 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest, 

Whom  the  fates  sever 
From  his  true  maiden's  breast, 

Parted  for  ever? 
Where,  through  groves  deep  and  high, 

Sounds  the  far  billow, 
Where  early  violets  die, 

Under  the  willow. 

CHORUS. 
Meu  loro,  etc.     Soft  shall  be  his  pillow. 


Il6  MARMION.  Canto  III. 

There,  through  the  summer  day, 

Cool  streams  are  laving; 
There,  while  the  tempests  sway, 

Scarce  are  boughs  waving; 
There,  thy  rest  shalt  thou  take, 

Parted  for  ever, 
Never  again  to  wake, 

Never,  0  never ! 

CHORUS. 

Eleu  loro,  etc.     Never,  0  never ! 

XI. 

Where  shall  the  traitor  rest, 

He,  the  deceiver, 
Who  could  win  maiden's  breast, 

Euin,  and  leave  her  ? 
In  the  lost  battle, 

Borne  down  by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle 

With  groans  of  the  dying. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu  loro,  etc.     There  shall  he  be  lying. 

Her  wing  shall  the  eagle  flap 

O'er  the  false-hearted ; 
His  warm  blood  the  wolf  shall  lap, 

Ere  life  be  parted. 
Shame  and  dishonour  sit 

By  his  grave  ever ; 


Canto  I II.        THE   HOSTEL,   OR  INN.  117 

Blessing  shall  hallow  it,  — 
Never,  O  never ! 

CHORUS. 
Eleu  loro,  etc.     Never,  0  never ! 

XII. 

It  ceased,  the  melancholy  sound ; 
And  silence  sunk  on  all  around. 
The  air  was  sad ;  but  sadder  still 

It  fell  on  Marmion's  ear, 
And  plain'd  as  if  disgrace  and  ill, 

And  shameful  death,  were  near. 
He  drew  his  mantle  past  his  face, 

Between  it  and  the  band, 
And  rested  with  his  head  a  space, 

Reclining  on  his  hand. 
His  thoughts  I  scan  not ;  but  I  ween, 
That,  could  their  import  have  been  seen, 
The  meanest  groom  in  all  the  hall, 
That  e'er  tied  courser  to  a  stall, 
Would  scarce  have  wish'd  to  be  their  prey, 
For  Lutterward  and  Fontenaye. 

xni. 

High  minds,  of  native  pride  and  force, 
Most  deeply  feel  thy  pangs,  Remorse ! 
Fear,  for  their  scourge,  mean  villains  have, 
Thou  art  the  torturer  of  the  brave ! 
Yet  fatal  strength  they  boast  to  steel 
Their  minds  to  bear  the  wounds  they  feel, 


Il8  MARMION.  Canto  III. 

Even  while  they  writhe  beneath  the  smart 
Of  civil  conflict  in  the  heart. 
For  soon  Lord  Marmion  raised  his  head, 
And,  smiling,  to  Fitz-Eustace  said, — 
"  Is  it  not  strange,  that,  as  ye  sung, 
Seem'd  in  mine  ear  a  death-peal  rung, 
Such  as  in  nunneries  they  toll 
For  some  departing  sister's  soul  ? 
Say,  what  may  this  portend  ? " 
Then  first  the  Palmer  silence  broke, 
(The  livelong  day  he  had  not  spoke,) 
"  The  death  of  a  dear  friend." l 

XIV. 

Marmion,  whose  steady  heart  and  eye 
Ne'er  changed  in  worst  extremity ; 

1  Among  other  omens  to  which  faithful  credit  is  given  among 
the  Scottish  peasantry,  is  what  is  called  the  "dead-bell,"  ex- 
plained by  my  friend,  James  Hogg,  to  be  that  tinkling  in  the 
ears  which  the  country  people  regard  as  the  secret  intelligence 
of  some  friend's  decease.  He  tells  a  story  to  the  purpose  in 
the  Mountain  Bard,  p.  26. 

"  O  lady,  'tis  dark,  an'  I  heard  the  dead-bell ! 
An'  I  darena  gae  yonder  for  gowd  nor  fee." 

By  the  dead-bell  is  meant  a  tinkling  in  the  ears,  which  our 
peasantry  in  the  country  regard  as  a  secret  intelligence  of 
some  friend's  decease.  Thus  this  natural  occurrence  strikes 
many  with  a  superstitious  awe.  This  reminds  me  of  a  trifling 
anecdote,  which  I  will  here  relate  as  an  instance :  Our  two 
servant-girls  agreed  to  go  an  errand  of  their  own,  one  night 
after  supper,  to  a  considerable  distance,  from  which  I  strove 
to  persuade  them,  but  could  not  prevail.  So,  after  going  to 
the  apartment  where  I  slept,  I  took  a  drinking-glass,  and, 
coming  close  to  the  back  of  the  door,  made  two  or  three  sweeps 


Canto  III.        THE   HOSTEL,   OR  INN.  119 

Marmion,  whose  soul  could  scantly  brook, 
Even  from  his  King,  a  haughty  look  ; l 
Whose  accent  of  command  controll'd, 
In  camps,  the  boldest  of  the  bold  — 
Thought,  look,  and  utterance  fail'd  him  now, 
Fall'n  was  his  glance,  and  flush'd  his  brow : 

For  either  in  the  tone, 
Or  something  in  the  Palmer's  look, 
So  full  upon  his  conscience  strook, 

That  answer  he  found  none. 
Thus  oft  it  haps,  that  when  within 
They  shrink  at  sense  of  secret  sin, 

A  feather  daunts  the  brave ; 
A  fool's  wild  speech  confounds  the  wise, 
And  proudest  princes  veil  their  eyes 

Before  their  meanest  slave. 

• 

XV. 

Well  might  he  falter !  —  By  his  aid 
Was  Constance  Beverley  betray'd. 

round  the  lips  of  the  glass  with  my  finger,  which  caused  a  loud 
shrill  sound.  I  then  overheard  the  following  dialogue  :  "  B.  Ahr 
mercy  !  the  dead-bell  went  through  my  head  just  now  with, 
such  a  knell  as  I  never  heard."  "  7.  I  heard  it  too."  "  B.  Did 
you  indeed  ?  That  is  remarkable.  I  never  knew  of  two  hear- 
ing it  at  the  same  time  before. "  "  I.  We  will  not  go  to  Midge- 
hope  to-night."  "  B.  I  would  not  go  for  all  the  world.  I  shall 
warrant  it  is  my  poor  brother  Wat ;  who  knows  what  these- 
wild  Irishes  may  have  done  to  him?"  —  Hogg's  Mountain 
Bard,  3d  Edit.  p.  31-2. 

1  MS.  —  "  Marmion,  whose  pride  )        , , 

}•  could  never  brook, 
Whose  haughty  soul     ) 

Even  from  his  King,  a  scornful  look." 


120  MARMION.  Canto  III. 

Not  that  he  augur'd  of  the  doom, 
Which  on  the  living  closed  the  tomb : 
But,  tired  to  hear  the  desperate  maid l 
Threaten  by  turns,  beseech,  upbraid ; 
And  wroth,  because  in  wild  despair,2 
She  practised  on  the  life  of  Clare ; 
Its  fugitive  the  Church  he  gave, 
Though  not  a  victim,  but  a  slave ; 
And  deem'd  restraint  in  convent  strange 
Would  hide  her  wrongs,  and  her  revenge. 
Himself,  proud  Henry's  favourite  peer, 
Held  Eomish  thunders  idle  fear, 
Secure  his  pardon  he  might  hold, 
For  some  slight  mulct  of  penance-gold. 
Thus  judging,  he  gave  secret  way, 
When  the  stern  priests  surprised  their  prey. 
His  train  but  deem'd  the  favourite  page 
Was  left  behind,  to  spare  his  age ; 
Or  other  if  they  deem'd,  none  dared 
To  mutter  what  he  thought  and  heard : 
Woe  to  the  vassal,  who  durst  pry 
Into  Lord  Marmion's  privacy  ! 

XVI. 

His  conscience  slept  —  he  deem'd  her  well, 
And  safe  secured  in  distant  cell ; 
But,  waken'd  by  her  favourite  lay, 
And  that  strange  Palmer's  boding  say, 

1  MS.  —  "  But  tired  to  hear  the  furious  maid." 
3 MS.  —  "  Incensed,  because  in  wild  despair." 


Canto  III.        THE   HOSTEL,   OR  INN.  1 21 

That  fell  so  ominous  and  drear, 
Full  on  the  object  of  his  fear, 
To  aid  remorse's  venom'd  throes, 
Dark  tales  of  convent-vengeance  rose  ; 
And  Constance,  late  betray'd  and  scorn'd, 
All  lovely  on  his  soul  return'd ; 
Lovely  as  when,  at  treacherous  call, 
She  left  her  convent's  peaceful  wall, 
Crimson'd  with  shame,  with  terror  mute, 
Dreading  alike  escape,  pursuit, 
Till  love,  victorious  o'er  alarms, 
Hid  fears  and  blushes  in  his  arms. 

XVII. 

"  Alas !  "  he  thought,  "  how  changed  that  mien ! 
How  changed  these  timid  looks  have  been,1 
Since  years  of  guilt,  and  of  disguise, 
Have  steel'd  her  brow,  and  arm'd  her  eyes ! 
No  more  of  virgin  terror  speaks 
The  blood  that  mantles  in  her  cheeks ; 
Fierce,  and  unfeminine,  are  there, 
Frenzy  for  joy,  for  grief  despair ; 
And  I  the  cause  —  for  whom  were  given 
Her  peace  on  earth,  her  hopes  in  heaven !  — 

i  The  MS.  reads: 

"  Since  fiercer  passions  wild  and  high, 
Have  flushed  her  cheek  with  deeper  dye, 
And  years  of  guilt,  and  of  disguise, 
Have  steel'd  her  brow,  and  arm'd  her  eyes, 
And  I  the  cause  —  for  whom  were  given 
Her  peace  on  earth,  her  hopes  in  heaven  1  — 
How  will  her  ardent  spirit  swell, 
And  chafe  within  the  narrow  cell  1 " 


122  MARMION.  Canto  III. 

Would,"  thought  he,  as  the  picture  grows, 
"  I  on  its  stalk  had  left  the  rose ! 
Oh,  why  should  man's  success  remove 
The  very  charms  that  wake  his  love !  — 
Her  convent's  peaceful  solitude 
Is  now  a  prison  harsh  and  rude ; 
And,  pent  within  the  narrow  cell, 
How  will  her  spirit  chafe  and  swell ! 
How  brook  the  stern  monastic  laws ! 
The  penance  how  —  and  I  the  cause !  — 
Vigil  and  scourge  —  perchance  even  worse ! "  — 
And  twice  he  rose  to  cry,  "  To  horse ! " 
And  twice  his  Sovereign's  mandate  came, 
like  damp  upon  a  kindling  flame ; 
And  twice  he  thought,  "  Gave  I  not  charge 
She  should  be  safe,  though  not  at  large  ? 
They  durst  not,  for  their  island,  shred 
One  golden  ringlet  from  her  head." 

XVIII. 

While  thus  in  Marmion's  bosom  strove 
Eepentance  and  reviving  love, 
Like  whirlwinds,  whose  contending  sway 
I've  seen  Loch  Vennachar  obey, 
Their  Host  the  Palmer's  speech  had  heard, 
And,  talkative,  took  up  the  word : 
"  Ay,  reverend  Pilgrim,  you,  who  stray 
From  Scotland's  simple  land  away,1 

1  MS.  —  "  From  this  plain  simple  land  away.'1 


Canto  III.         THE   HOSTED,   OR   INN  123 

To  visit  realms  afar, 
Full  often  learn  the  art  to  know 
Of  future  weal,  or  future  woe, 

By  word,  or  sign,  or  star; 
Yet  might  a  knight  his  fortune  hear, 
If,  knight-like,  he  despises  fear, 
Not  far  from  hence ;  —  if  fathers  old 
Aright  our  hamlet  legend  told."  — 
These  broken  words  the  menials  move, 
(For  marvels  still  the  vulgar  love,) 
And,  Marmion  giving  license  cold, 
His  tale  the  host  thus  gladly  told :  — 

XIX. 

THE   HOST'S   TALE. 

*  A  Clerk  could  tell  what  years  have  flown 
Since  Alexander  fill'd  our  throne, 
(Third  monarch  of  that  warlike  name,) 
And  eke  the  time  when  here  he  came 
To  seek  Sir  Hugo,  then  our  lord : 
A  braver  never  drew  a  sword  ; 
A  wiser  never,  at  the  hour 
Of  midnight,  spoke  the  word  of  power : 
The  same,  whom  ancient  records  call 
The  founder  of  the  Goblin-Hall,1 

1 A  vaulted  hall  under  the  ancient  castle  of  Gifford,  or  Tes- 
ter (for  it  bears  either  name  indifferently),  the  construction  of 
which  has  from  a  very  remote  period  been  ascribed  to  magic. 
The  Statistical  Account  of  the  Parish  of  Garvald  and  Baro 
gives  the  following  account  of  the  present  state  of  this  castle 
and  apartment :  "  Upon  a  peninsula,  formed  by  the  water  of 


124  MARMION.  Canto  III. 

I  would,  Sir  Knight,  your  longer  stay 
Gave  you  that  cavern  to  survey. 
Of  lofty  roof,  and  ample  size, 
Beneath  the  castle  deep  it  lies : 
To  hew  the  li ving  rock  profound, 
The  floor  to  pave,  the  arch  to  round, 
There  never  toil'd  a  mortal  arm, 
It  all  was  wrought  by  word  and  charm ; 
And  I  have  heard  my  grandsire  say, 
That  the  wild  clamour  and  affray 
Of  those  dread  artisans  of  hell, 
Who  labour'd  under  Hugo's  spell, 

Hopes  on  the  east,  and  a  large  rivulet  on  the  west,  stands  the 
ancient  castle  of  Tester.  Sir  David  Dalrymple,  in  his  Annals, 
relates  that  '  Hugh  Gifford  de  Tester  died  in  1267  ;  that  in  his 
castle  there  was  a  capacious  cavern,  formed  by  magical  art, 
and  called  in  the  country  Bo-Hall,  i.  e.  Hobgoblin  Hall.'  A 
stair  of  twenty-four  steps  led  down  to  this  apartment,  which  is 
a  large  and  spacious  hall,  with  an  arched  roof ;  and  though 
it  hath  stood  for  so  many  centuries,  and  been  exposed  to 
the  external  air  for  a  period  of  fifty  or  sixty  years,  it  is  still  as 
firm  and  entire  as  if  it  had  only  stood  a  few  years.  From  the 
floor  of  this  hall,  another  stair  of  thirty -six  steps  leads  down 
to  a  pit  which  hath  a  communication  with  Hopes-water.  A 
great  part  of  the  walls  of  this  large  and  ancient  castle  are  still 
standing.  There  is  a  tradition  that  the  castle  of  Tester  was 
the  last  fortification,  in  this  country,  that  surrendered  to  Gen- 
eral Gray,  sent  into  Scotland  by  Protector  Somerset."  —  Statis- 
tical Account,  vol.  xiii.  I  have  only  to  add  that,  in  1737,  the 
Goblin  Hall  was  tenanted  by  the  Marquis  of  Tweeddale's  fal- 
coner, as  I  learn  from  a  poem  from  Boyse,  entitled  Retirement, 
written  upon  visiting  Tester.  It  is  now  rendered  inaccessible 
by  the  fall  of  the  stair. 

Sir  David  Dairy mple's  authority  for  the  anecdote  is  in  For- 
dun,  whose  words  are:  "A.  D.  mcclxvii.  Hugo  Giffard  de 
Tester  moritur ;  cujus  castrum,  vel  saltern  caveam,  et  dongionem, 


Canto  III.         THE    HOSTEL,   OR   INN.  125 

Sounded  as  loud  as  ocean's  war, 
Among  the  caverns  of  Dunbar. 

XX. 

"  The  King  Lord  Gifford's  castle  sought, 
Deep  labouring  with  uncertain  thought ; 
Even  then  he  muster'd  all  his  host, 
To  meet  upon  the  western  coast : 
For  Norse  and  Danish  galleys  plied 
Their  oars  within  the  frith  of  Clyde. 
There  floated  Haco's  banner  trim,1 
Above  Norweyan  warriors  grim,2 
Savage  of  heart,  and  large  of  limb ; 
Threatening  both  continent  and  isle, 
Bute,  Arran,  Cunninghame,  and  Kyle. 
Lord  Gifford,  deep  beneath  the  ground, 
Heard  Alexander's  bugle  sound, 

arte  doemonicd  antiquaz  relationesferuntfabr/factos :  nam  ibidem 
habetur  miraJbUis  specus  subterraneus,  opere  mirifico  constructus, 
magno  terrarum  spatio  protelatus,  qui  communiter  J3o=J^all 
appellatus  est."1"1  — Lib.  X.  cap.  21.  Sir  David  conjectures  that 
Hugh  de  Gifford  must  either  have  been  a  very  wise  man,  or  a 
great  oppressor. 

1  In  1263,  Haco,  King  of  Norway,  came  into  the  Frith  of 
Clyde  with  a  powerful  armament,  and  made  a  descent  at  Largs, 
in  Ayrshire.  Here  he  was  encountered  and  defeated,  on  the 
2d  October,  by  Alexander  III.  Haco  retreated  to  Orkney, 
where  he  died  soon  after  this  disgrace  to  his  arms.  There  are 
still  existing,  near  the  place  of  battle,  many  barrows,  some  of 
which,  having  been  opened,  were  found,  as  usual,  to  contain 
bones  and  urns. 

*  MS.  —  "  There  floated  Haco's  banner  grim, 

O'er  fierce  of  heart  and  large  of  limb." 


126  MARMION.  Canto  III. 

And  tarried  not  his  garb  to  change, 

But,  in  his  wizard  habit  strange,1 

Came  forth,  —  a  quaint  and  fearful  sight ; 

His  mantle  lined  with  fox-skins  white ; 

His  high  and  wrinkled  forehead  bore 

A  pointed  cap,  such  as  of  yore 

Clerks  say  that  Pharaoh's  Magi  wore : 

His  shoes  were  mark'd  with  cross  and  spell, 

Upon  his  breast  a  pentacle ; 2 

His  zone,  of  virgin  parchment  thin, 

Or,  as  some  tell,  of  dead  man's  skin, 

Bore  many  a  planetary  sign, 

Combust,  and  retrograde,  and  trine ; 3 

And  in  his  hand  he  held  prepared, 

A  naked  sword  without  a  guard. 

1  "  Magicians,  as  is  well  known,  were  very  curious  in  the 
choice  and  form  of  their  vestments.     Their  caps  are  oval,  or 
like  pyramids,  with  lappets  on  each  side,  and  fur  within.  Their 
gowns  are  long,  and  furred  with  fox-skins,  under  which  they 
have  a  linen  garment  reaching  to  the  knee.     Their  girdles  are 
three  inches  broad,  and  have  many  cabalistical  names,  with 
crosses,  trines,  and  circles  inscribed  on  them.     Their  shoes 
should  be  of  new  russet  leather,  with  a  cross  cut  upon  them. 
Their  knives  are  dagger-fashion  ;  and  their  swords  have  neither 
guard  nor  scabbard. "  —  See  these,  and  many  other  particulars, 
in  the  Discourse  concerning  Devils  and  Spirits,   annexed  to 
Reginald  Scott's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  edition  1665. 

2  "  A  pentacle  is  a  piece  of  fine  linen,  folded  with  five  corners, 
according  to  the  five  senses,  and  suitably  inscribed  with  char- 
acters.    This  the  magician  extends  toward  the  spirits  which  he 
invokes,  when  they  are  stubborn  and  rebellious,  and  refuse  to 
be  conformable  unto  the  ceremonies  and  rites  of  magic." — See 
the  Discourses,  etc.,  above  mentioned,  p.  66. 

8 MS. — "Bare  many  a  character  and  sign, 
Of  planets  retrograde  and  trine." 


Canto  III.        THE   HOSTEL,   OR  INN.  127 

XXI. 

"  Dire  dealings  with  the  fiendish  race 
Had  mark'd  strange  lines  upon  his  face ; 
Vigil  and  fast  had  worn  him  grim, 
His  eyesight  dazzled  seem'd  and  dim, 
As  one  unused  to  upper  day ; 
Even  his  own  menials  with  dismay 
Beheld,  Sir  Knight,  the  grisly  Sire, 
In  his  unwonted  wild  attire ; 
Unwonted,  for  traditions  run, 
He  seldom  thus  beheld  the  sun.  — 

*  I  know,'  he  said,  —  his  voice  was  hoarse, 
And  broken  seem'd  its  hollow  force,  — 

'  I  know  the  cause,  although  untold, 
Why  the  King  seeks  his  vassal's  hold : 
Vainly  from  me  my  liege  would  know 
His  kingdom's  future  weal  or  woe ; 
But  yet,  if  strong  his  arm  and  heart, 
His  courage  may  do  more  than  art. 

XXII. 

* '  Of  middle  air  the  demons  proud, 
Who  ride  upon  the  racking  cloud, 
Can  read,  in  fix'd  or  wandering  star, 
The  issue  of  events  afar ; 
But  still  their  sullen  aid  withhold, 
Save  when  by  mightier  force  controlTd. 
Such  late  I  summon'd  to  my  hall ; 
And  though  so  potent  was  the  call, 
That  scarce  the  deepest  nook  of  hell 
I  deem'd  a  refuge  from  the  spell, 


128  MARMION.  Canto  III. 

Yet,  obstinate  in  silence  still, 

The  haughty  demon  mocks  my  skill. 

But  thou,  —  who  little  know'st  thy  might, 

As  born  upon  that  blessed  night l 

When  yawning  graves,  and  dying  groan, 

Proclaimed  hell's  empire  overthrown, — 

With  untaught  valour  shalt  compel 

Eesponse  denied  to  magic  spell.'  —  2 
*  Gramercy,'  quoth  our  Monarch  free, 
« Place  him  but  front  to  front  with  me, 

And,  by  this  good  and  honour'd  brand, 

The  gift  of  Cceur-de-Lion's  hand, 

Soothly  I  swear,  that,  tide  what  tide, 

The  demon  shall  a  buffet  bide.'  — 3 

His  bearing  bold  the  wizard  view'd, 

And  thus,  well  pleased,  his  speech  renew'd :  — 
'  There  spoke  the  blood  of  Malcolm !  —  mark : 

Forth  pacing  hence,  at  midnight  dark, 

The  rampart  seek,  whose  circling  crown  * 

Crests  the  ascent  of  yonder  down : 

A  southern  entrance  shalt  thou  find ; 

There  halt,  and  there  thy  bugle  wind, 

1  It  is  a  popular  article  of  faith,  that  those  who  are  born  on 
Christmas,  or  Good  Friday,  have  the  power  of  seeing  spirits, 
and  even  of  commanding  them.  The  Spaniards  imputed  the 
haggard  and  downcast  looks  of  their  Philip  II.  to  the  disagree- 
able visions  to  which  this  privilege  subjected  him. 

2 MS. — "With  untaught  valour  mayst  compel 
What  is  denied  to  magic  spell." 

*  MS.— "  Bicker  and  buffet  he  shall  bide." 

A  if  a      L  .  o    i   (  that  )    , ,  0  camp  which  ) 
4  MS.— ' '  Seek  -}  £•  old  •}  £•  as  a  crown." 

(  yon    )         (  trench  that  > 


Canto  I  I  I.        THE   HOSTEL,   OR  INN.  129 

And  trust  thine  elfin  foe  to  see, 
In  guise  of  thy  worst  enemy : 
Couch  then  thy  lance,  and  spur  thy  steed  — 
Upon  him  !  and  Saint  George  to  speed  1 
If  he  go  down,  thou  soon  shalt  know 
Whate'er  these  airy  sprites  can  show ;  — 
If  thy  heart  fail  thee  in  the  strife, 
I  am  no  warrant  for  thy  life.' 

XXIII. 

"  Soon  as  the  midnight  bell  did  ring, 
Alone,  and  arm'd,  forth  rode  the  King 
To  that  old  camp's  deserted  round : 1 
Sir  Knight,  you  well  might  mark  the  mound, 
Left  hand  the  town,  —  the  Pictish  race, 
The  trench,  long  since,  in  blood  did  trace ; 
The  moor  around  is  brown  and  bare, 
The  space  within  is  green  and  fair. 
The  spot  our  village  children  know, 
For  there  the  earliest  wild-flowers  grow ; 
But  woe  betide  the  wandering  wight, 
That  treads  its  circle  in  the  night ! 
The  breadth  across,  a  bowshot  clear, 
Gives  ample  space  for  full  career ; 
Opposed  to  the  four  points  of  heaven, 
By  four  deep  gaps  are  entrance  given. 
The  southernmost  our  Monarch  past,2 
Halted,  and  blew  a  gallant  blast ; 

1  MS. — "  Alone,  and  ann'd,  rode  forth  the  King 

To  that  encampment's  haunted  round.'* 
2JfS.  —  "The  southern  gate  our  Monarch  past.'* 
9 


1 3o  MARMION.  Canto  III. 

And  on  the  north,  within  the  ring, 
Appear'd  the  form  of  England's  King, 
Who  then,  a  thousand  leagues  afar, 
In  Palestine  waged  holy  war : 
Yet  arms  like  England's  did  he  wield, 
Alike  the  leopards  in  the  shield, 
Alike  his  Syrian  courser's  frame, 
The  rider's  length  of  limb  the  same : 
Long  afterwards  did  Scotland  know, 
Fell  Edward  1  was  her  deadliest  foe. 

XXIV. 

«  The  vision  made  our  Monarch  start, 
But  soon  he  mann'd  his  noble  heart, 
And  in  the  first  career  they  ran, 
The  Elfin  Knight  fell,  horse  and  man ; 
Yet  did  a  splinter  of  his  lance 
Through  Alexander's  visor  glance, 
And  razed  the  skin  —  a  puny  wound. 
The  King,  light  leaping  to  the  ground, 
With  naked  blade  his  phantom  foe 
Compell'd  the  future  war  to  show. 
Of  Largs  he  saw  the  glorious  plain, 
Where  still  gigantic  bones  remain, 

Memorial  of  the  Danish  war ; 
Himself  he  saw,  amid  the  field, 
On  high  his  brandish'd  war-axe  wield, 

And  strike  proud  Haco  from  his  car, 
While  all  around  the  shadowy  Kings 
Denmark's  grim  ravens  cower'd  their  wings. 
1  Edward  I.,  surnamed  Longshanks. 


Canto  I II.         THE   HOSTEL,   OR   INN.  131 

Tis  said,  that,  in  that  awful  night, 
Remoter  visions  met  his  sight, 
Foreshowing  future  conquests  far,1 
When  our  sons'  sons  wage  northern  war ; 
A  royal  city,  tower  and  spire, 
Redden'd  the  midnight  sky  with  fire, 
And  shouting  crews  her  navy  bore, 
Triumphant,  to  the  victor  shore.2 
Such  signs  may  learned  clerks  explain, 
They  pass  the  wit  of  simple  swain. 

XXV. 

"  The  joyful  King  turn'd  home  again, 
Headed  his  host,  and  quell'd  the  Dane ; 
But  yearly,  when  return'd  the  night 
Of  his  strange  combat  with  the  sprite, 

His  wound  must  bleed  and  smart ; 
Lord  Gifford  then  would  gibing  say, 
'Bold  as  ye  were,  my  liege,  ye  pay 

The  penance  of  your  start.' 
Long  since,  beneath  Dunfermline's  nave, 
King  Alexander  fills  his  grave, 


1  JtfS.  —  "  To  be  fulfill'd  in  times  afar, 

When  our  sons'  sons  wage  northern  war ; 
A  royal  city's  towers  and  spires 
Redden'd  the  midnight  sky  with  fires, 
And  shouting  crews  her  navy  bore, 
Triumphant,  from  the  vanquish'd  shore." 

*For  an  account  of  the  expedition  to  Copenhagen  in  1801, 
see  Southey's  Life  of  Nelson,  chap.  vii. 


132  MARMION.  Canto  I 

Our  Lady  give  him  rest ! 
Yet  still  the  knightly  spear  and  shield 
The  Elfin  Warrior  doth  wield, 

Upon  the  brown  hill's  breast ;  * 
And  many  a  knight  hath  proved  his  chance, 
In  the  charm'd  ring  to  break  a  lance, 

But  all  have  foully  sped ; 
Save  two,  as  legends  tell,  and  they 
Were  Wallace  wight,  and  Gilbert  Hay.  — 

Gentles,  my  tale  is  said." 

XXVI. 

The  quaighs2  were  deep,  the  liquor  strong, 
And  on  the  tale  the  yeoman-throng 
Had  made  a  comment  sage  and  long, 

But  Marmion  gave  a  sign : 
And,  with  their  lord,  the  squires  retire ; 
The  rest,  around  the  hostel  fire, 

Their  drowsy  limbs  recline ; 
For  pillow,  underneath  each  head, 
The  quiver  and  the  targe  were  laid. 
Deep  slumbering  on  the  hostel  floor,3 
Oppress'd  with  toil  and  ale,  they  snore : 
The  dying  flame,  in  fitful  change, 
Threw  on  the  group  its  shadows  strange. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

2  A  wooden  cup,  composed  of  staves  hooped  together. 
8  MS.  —  "  Deep  slumbering  on  the  floor  of  clay/ 

Oppress'd  with  toil  and  ale,  they  lay  ; 

The  dying  flame,  in  fitful  change, 

Threw  on  them  lights  and  shadows  strange.'*' 


Canto  III.        THE   HOSTEL,  OR  INN.  133 

XXVIL 

Apart,  and  nestling  in  the  hay 
Of  a  waste  loft,  Fitz-Eustace  lay ; 
Scarce,  by  the  pale  moonlight,  were  seen 
The  foldings  of  his  mantle  green : 
Lightly  he  dreamt,  as  youth  will  dream, 
Of  sport  by  thicket,  or  by  stream, 
Of  hawk  or  hound,  of  ring  or  glove, 
Or,  lighter  yet,  of  lady's  love. 
'A  cautious  tread  his  slumber  broke, 
And,  close  beside  him,  when  he  woke, 
In  moonbeam  half,  and  half  in  gloom, 
Stood  a  tall  form,  with  nodding  plume ; 
But,  ere  his  dagger  Eustace  drew, 
His  master  Marmion's  voice  he  knew.1 

XXVIII. 

—  "  Fitz-Eustace !  rise,  —  I  cannot  rest ! 
Yon  churl's  wild  legend  haunts  my  breast, 
And  graver  thoughts  have  chafed  my  mood : 
The  air  must  cool  my  feverish  blood ; 
And  fain  would  I  ride  forth,  to  see 
The  scene  of  elfin  chivalry. 
Arise,  and  saddle  me  my  steed ; 2 
And,  gentle  Eustace,  take  good  heed 
Thou  dost  not  rouse  these  drowsy  slaves ; 
I  would  not,  that  the  prating  knaves 

1  MS.  —  "  But,  ere  his  dagger  Eustace  drew, 

It  spoke  —  Lord  Marmion's  voice  he  knew." 
*MS.  —  Come  down  and  saddle  me  my  steed." 


134  MARMION.  Canto  III. 

Had  cause  for  saying,  o'er  their  ale, 
That  I  could  credit  such  a  tale."  — 
Then  softly  down  the  steps  they  slid, 
Eustace  the  stable  door  undid, 
And,  darkling,  Marmion's  steed  array'd, 
While,  whispering,  thus  the  Baron  said  :  — 

XXIX. 

«  Did'st  never,  good  my  youth,  hear  tell, 
That  on  the  hour  when  I  was  born, 

Saint  George,  who  graced  my  sire's  chapelle, 

Down  from  his  steed  of  marble  fell, 
A  weary  wight  forlorn  ? 

The  flattering  chaplains  all  agree, 

The  champion  left  his  steed  to  me. 

I  would,  the  omen's  truth  to  show, 

That  I  could  meet  this  Elfin  Foe ! 1 

Blithe  would  I  battle,  for  the  right 

To  ask  one  question  at  the  sprite :  — 

Vain  thought !  for  elves,  if  elves  there  be, 

An  empty  race,  by  fount  or  sea, 

To  dashing  waters  dance  and  sing,2 

Or  round  the  green  oak  wheel  their  ring." 

Thus  speaking,  he  his  steed  bestrode, 

And  from  the  hostel  slowly  rode. 

XXX. 

Fitz-Eustace  followed  him  abroad, 
And  mark'd  him  pace  the  village  road, 

1  MS.  —  "I  would,  to  prove  the  omen  right, 

That  I  could  meet  this  Elfin  Knight !  " 
2 MS.  —  "  Dance  to  the  wild  waves'  murmuring." 


Canto  III.         THE   HOSTEL,   OR  INN.  135 

And  listen'd  to  his  horse's  tramp, 
Till,  by  the  lessening  sound, 

He  judged  that  of  the  Pictish  camp 
Lord  Marmion  sought  the  round. 
Wonder  it  seem'd,  in  the  squire's  eyes, 
That  one,  so  wary  held,  and  wise,  — 
Of  whom  'twas  said,  he  scarce  received 
For  gospel,  what  the  Church  believed,  — 

Should,  stirr'd  by  idle  tale, 
Ride  forth  in  silence  of  the  night, 
As  hoping  half  to  meet  a  sprite, 

Array'd  in  plate  and  mail. 
For  little  did  Fitz-Eustace  know, 
That  passions,  in  contending  flow, 

Unfix  the  strongest  mind ; 
Wearied  from  doubt  to  doubt  to  flee, 
We  welcome  fond  credulity, 

Guide  confident,  though  blind. 

XXXI. 

Little  for  this  Fitz-Eustace  cared, 
But,  patient,  waited  till  he  heard, 
At  distance,  prick'd  to  utmost  speed, 
The  foot-tramp  of  a  flying  steed, 

Come  town-ward  rushing  on ; 
First,  dead,  as  if  on  turf  it  trode, 
Then,  clattering  on  the  village  road,  — 
In  other  pace  than  forth  he  yode,1 

Return'd  Lord  Marmion. 

1  Yode,  used  by  old  poets  for  went. 


136  MARMION.  Canto  HI. 

Down  hastily  he  sprung  from  selle, 
And,  in  his  haste,  well-nigh  he  fell ; 
To  the  squire's  hand  the  rein  he  threw, 
And  spoke  no  word  as  he  withdrew : 
But  yet  the  moonlight  did  betray, 
The  falcon-crest  was  soil'd  with  clay ; 
And  plainly  might  Fitz-Eustace  see, 
By  stains  upon  the  charger's  knee, 
And  his  left  side,  that  on  the  moor 
He  had  not  kept  his  footing  sure. 
Long  musing  on  these  wondrous  signs, 
At  length  to  rest  the  squire  reclines, 
Broken  and  short ;  for  still,  between, 
Would  dreams  of  terror  intervene : 
Eustace  did  ne'er  so  blithely  mark 
The  first  notes  of  the  morning  lark. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FOURTH. 


To  James  Skene,  Esq.1 

Ashestiel,  Ettrick  Forest. 
AN  ancient  Minstrel  sagely  said, 
"  Where  is  the  life  which  late  we  led  ? " 
That  motley  clown  in  Arden  wood, 
Whom  humourous  Jacques  with  envy  viewed, 
Not  even  that  clown  could  amplify, 
On  this  trite  text,  so  long  as  I. 
Eleven  years  we  now  may  tell, 
Since  we  have  known  each  other  well; 
Since,  riding  side  by  side,  our  hand 
First  drew  the  voluntary  brand ; 2 
And  sure,  through  many  a  varied  scene, 
Unkindness  never  came  between. 
Away  these  winged  years  have  flown, 
To  join  the  mass  of  ages  gone ; 

1  James  Skene,  Esq.,  of  Rubislaw,  Aberdeenshire,  was  Cor- 
net in  the  Royal  Edinburgh  Light  Horse  Volunteers ;  and  Sir 
Walter  Scott  was  Quartermaster  of  the  same  corps. 

2  MS.  —  "  Unsheathed  the  voluntary  brand." 


I38  MARMION. 

And  though  deep  mark'd,  like  all  below, 
With  chequer'd  shades  of  joy  and  woe ; 
Though  thou  o'er  realms  and  seas  hast  ranged, 
Mark'd  cities  lost,  and  empires  changed, 
While  here,  at  home,  my  narrower  ken 
Somewhat  of  manners  saw,  and  men ; 
Though  varying  wishes,  hopes,  and  fears, 
Fever'd  the  progress  of  these  years, 
Yet  now,  days,  weeks,  and  months,  but  seem 
The  recollection  of  a  dream, 
So  still  we  glide  down  to  the  sea 
Of  fathomless  eternity. 

Even  now  it  scarcely  seems  a  day, 
Since  first  I  tuned  this  idle  lay ; 
A  task  so  often  thrown  aside, 
When  leisure  graver  cares  denied, 
That  now,  November's  dreary  gale, 
Whose  voice  inspir'd  my  opening  tale, 
That  same  November  gale  once  more 
Whirls  the  dry  leaves  on  Yarrow  shore. 
Their  vex'd  boughs  streaming  to  the  sky, 
Once  more  our  naked  birches  sigh, 
And  Blackhouse  heights,  and  Ettrick  Pen, 
Have  donn'd  their  wintry  shrouds  again : 
And  mountain  dark,  and  flooded  mead,1 
Bid  us  forsake  the  banks  of  Tweed. 
Earlier  than  wont  along  the  sky, 
Mix'd  with  the  rack,  the  snow  mists  fly ; 

1  MS.  —  "  And  noon-tide  mist,  and  flooded  mead." 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FOURTH.   139 

The  shepherd  who,  in  summer  sun, 
Had  something  of  our  envy  won, 
As  thou  with  pencil,  I  with  pen, 
The  features  traced    f  hill  and  glen ;  — l 
He  who,  outstretch'd  the  livelong  day, 
At  ease  among  the  heath-flowers  lay, 
View'd  the  light  clouds  with  vacant  look, 
Or  slumber'd  o'er  his  tatter'd  book, 
Or  idly  busied  him  to  guide 
His  angle  o'er  the  lessen'd  tide ;  — 
At  midnight  now,  the  snowy  plain 
Finds  sterner  labour  for  the  swain. 


When  red  hath  set  the  beamless  sun,2 
Through  heavy  vapours  dark  and  dun ; 
When  the  tired  ploughman,  dry  and  warm, 
Hears,  half  asleep,  the  rising  storm 
Hurling  the  hail,  and  sleeted  rain, 
Against  the  casement's  tinkling  pane ; 
The  sounds  that  drive  wild  deer,  and  fox, 
To  shelter  in  the  brake  and  rocks, 
Are  warnings  which  the  shepherd  ask 
To  dismal  and  to  dangerous  task. 
Oft  he  looks  forth,  and  hopes,  in  vain, 
The  blast  may  sink  in  mellowing  rain ; 


1  Various  illustrations  of    the    poetry   and  novels   of   Sir 
Walter  Scott,  from  designs  by  Mr.  Skene,  have  since  been 
published. 

2  MS.  —  "  When  red  hath  set  the  evening  sun, 

And  loud  winds  speak  the  storm  begun." 


140  MARMION. 

Till,  dark  above,  and  white  below,1 

Decided  drives  the  flaky  snow, 

And  forth  the  hardy  swain  must  go. 

Long,  with  dejected  look  and  whine, 

To  leave  the  hearth  his  dogs  repine ; 

Whistling  and  cheering  them  to  aid, 

Around  his  back  he  wreathes  the  plaid : 

His  flock  he  gathers,  and  he  guides, 

To  open  downs,  and  mountain-sides, 

Where  fiercest  though  the  tempest  blow, 

Least  deeply  lies  the  drift  below. 

The  blast,  that  whistles  o'er  the  fells,2 

Stiffens  his  locks  to  icicles ; 

Oft  he  looks  back,  while  streaming  far, 

His  cottage  window  seems  a  star,  — 3 

Loses  its  feeble  gleam,  —  and  then 

Turns  patient  to  the  blast  again, 

And,  facing  to  the  tempest's  sweep, 

Drives  through  the  gloom  his  lagging  sheep. 

If  fails  his  heart,  if  his  limbs  fail, 

Benumbing  death  is  in  the  gale : 

His  paths,  his  landmarks,  all  unknown, 

Close  to  the  hut,  no  more  his  own, 

Close  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain, 

1  MS.  —  "  Till  thickly  drives  the  flaky  snow, 
And  forth  the  hardy  swain  must  go, 
While,  with  dejected  look  and  whine,"  etc. 

2 MS.  —  "  The  frozen  blast  that  sweeps  the  fells." 

8  MS.  —  "  His  cottage  window  beams  a  star,  — 
But  soon  he  loses  it,  —  and  then 
Turns  patient  to  his  task  again." 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FOURTH.      141 

The  morn  may  find  the  stiffen'd  swain : J 
The  widow  sees,  at  dawning  pale, 
His  orphans  raise  their  feeble  wail ; 
And,  close  beside  him,  in  the  snow, 
Poor  Yarrow,  partner  of  their  woe, 
Couches  upon  his  master's  breast,2 
And  licks  his  cheek  to  break  his  rest. 

Who  envies  now  the  shepherd's  lot, 
His  healthy  fare,  his  rural  cot, 
His  summer  couch  by  greenwood  tree, 
His  rustic  kirn's  3  loud  revelry, 
His  native  hill-notes,  tuned  on  high, 
To  Marion  of  the  blithesome  eye ;  * 
His  crook,  his  scrip,  his  oaten  reed, 
And  all  Arcadia's  golden  creed  ? 

Changes  not  so  with  us,  my  Skene, 
Of  human  life  the  varying  scene  ? 

1  MS.  —  "  The  morn  shall  find  the  stiffen'd  swain  : 
His  widow  sees,  at  morning  pale, 
His  children  rise,  and  raise  their  wail." 

1  cannot  help  here  mentioning,  that  on  the  night  in  which 
these  lines  were  written,  suggested,  as  they  were,  by  a  sudden 
fall  of  snow,  beginning  after  sunset,  an  unfortunate  man  per- 
ished exactly  in  the  manner  here  described,  and  his  body  was 
next  morning  found  close  to  his  own  house.      The  accident 
happened  within  five  miles  of  the  farm  of  Ashestiel. 

Compare  the  celebrated  description  of  a  man  perishing  in. 
the  snow,  in  Thomson's  Winter. 

2  MS.  —  "  Couches  upon  his  frozen  breast." 
8  The  Scottish  Harvest-home. 

4  MS.  —  "  His  native  wild  notes'  melody, 

To  Marion's  blithely  blinking  eye." 


1 42  MARMION. 

Our  youthful  summer  oft  we  see1 
Dance  by  on  wings  of  game  and  glee, 
While  the  dark  storm  reserves  its  rage, 
Against  the  winter  of  our  age : 
As  he,  the  ancient  Chief  of  Troy, 
His  manhood  spent  in  peace  and  joy ; 
But  Grecian  fires,  and  loud  alarms, 
Call'd  ancient  Priam  forth  to  arms.2 
Then  happy  those,  since  each  must  drain 
His  share  of  pleasure,  share  of  pain,  — 
Then  happy  those  beloved  of  Heaven, 
To  whom  the  mingled  cup  is  given ; 
Whose  lenient  sorrows  find  relief, 
Whose  joys  are  chasten'd  by  their  grief. 
And  such  a  lot,  my  Skene,  was  thine, 
When  thou  of  late,  wert  doom'd  to  twine, — 
Just  when  thy  bridal  hour  was  by,  — 
The  cypress  with  the  myrtle  tie. 
Just  on  thy  bride  her  Sire  had  smiled,3 
And  bless'd  the  union  of  his  child, 
When  love  must  change  its  joyous  cheer, 
And  wipe  affection's  filial  tear. 
Nor  did  the  actions  next  his  end,4 
Speak  more  the  father  than  the  friend : 

1  MS.  —  "  Our  youthful  summer  oft  we  see 

Dance  by  on  wings  of  mirth  and  glee, 
While  the  dark  storm  reserves  its  rage, 
To  crush  the  winter  of  our  age." 
2  MS.  —  "  Call'd  forth  his  feeble  age  to  arms." 
8 MS.  —  "  Scarce  on  thy  bride  her  Sire  had  smiled." 
4  MS.  —  "  But  even  the  actions  next  his  end, 

Spoke  the  fond  sire  and  faithful  friend." 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FOURTH.     143 

Scarce  had  lamented  Forbes 1  paid 

The  tribute  to  his  Minstrel's  shade ; 

The  tale  of  friendship  scarce  was  told, 

Ere  the  narrator's  heart  was  cold  — 

Far  may  we  search  before  we  find 

A  heart  so  manly  and  so  kind ! 

But  not  around  his  honour'd  urn, 

Shall  friends  alone  and  kindred  mourn ; 

The  thousand  eyes  his  care  had  dried, 

Pour  at  his  name  a  bitter  tide ; 

And  frequent  falls  the  grateful  dew, 

For  benefits  the  world  ne'er  knew. 

If  mortal  charity  dare  claim 

The  Almighty's  attributed  name, 

Inscribe  above  his  mouldering  clay, 
"  The  widow's  shield,  the  orphan's  stay." 

Nor,  though  it  wake  thy  sorrow,  deem 

My  verse  intrudes  on  this  sad  theme ; 

For  sacred  was  the  pen  that  wrote, 
"  Thy  father's  friend  forget  thou  not : " 

And  grateful  title  may  I  plead,2 

For  many  a  kindly  word  and  deed, 

1  Sir  William  Forbes  of  Pitsligo,  Baronet ;  unequalled,  per- 
haps, in  the  degree  of  individual  affection  entertained  for  him 
by  his  friends,  as  well  as  in  the  general  respect  and  esteem  of 
Scotland  at  large.     His  Life  of  Seattle,  whom  he  befriended 
and  patronised  hi  life,  as  well  as  celebrated  after  his  decease, 
was  not  long  published  before  the  benevolent  and  affectionate 
biographer  was  called  to  follow  the  subject  of  his  narrative. 
This  melancholy  event  very  shortly  succeeded  the  marriage  of 
the  friend,  to  whom  this  introduction  is  addressed,  with  one 
of  Sir  William's  daughters. 

2  M8.  —  "And  nearer  title  may  I  plead." 


144  MARMION. 

To  bring  my  tribute  to  his  grave :  — 
Tis  little  —  but  'tis  all  I  have. 

To  thee,  perchance,  this  rambling  strain 
Eecalls  our  summer  walks  again ; 
When,  doing  nought,  —  and,  to  speak  true, 
Not  anxious  to  find  aught  to  do,  — 
The  wild  unbounded  hills  we  ranged, 
While  oft  our  talk  its  topic  changed, 
And,  desultory  as  our  way, 
Eanged  unconfined  from  grave  to  gay. 
Even  when  it  flagg'd  as  oft  will  chance, 
No  effort  made  to  break  its  trance, 
We  could  right  pleasantly  pursue 
Our  sports  in  social  silence,  too ; 1 
Thou  gravely  labouring  to  portray 
The  blighted  oak's  fantastic  spray ; 
I  spelling  o'er  with  much  delight, 
The  legend  of  that  antique  knight, 
Tirante  by  name,  yclep'd  the  White. 
At  cither's  feet  a  trusty  squire, 
Pandour  and  Camp,2  with  eyes  of  fire, 
Jealous,  each  other's  motions  view'd, 

• 

And  scarce  suppress'd  their  ancient  feud. 
The  laverock  whistled  from  the  cloud ; 
The  stream  was  lively,  but  not  loud ; 

1  MS.  —  "  Our  thoughts  in  social  silence  too." 

2  Camp  was  a  favourite  dog  of  the  Poet's,  a  bull-terrier  of 
extraordinary  sagacity .     He  is  introduced  in  Eaeburn's  portrait 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  now  at  Dalkeith  Palace. 

8  MS. — "Till  oft  our  voice  suppress'd  the  feud." 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FOURTH.      145 

From  the  white  thorn  the  May-flower  shed 
Its  dewy  fragrance  round  our  head : 
Not  Ariel  lived  more  merrily 
Under  the  blossom'd  bough,  than  we. 


And  blithesome  nights,  too,  have  been  ours, 
When  Winter  stript  the  summer's  bowers. 
Careless  we  heard,  what  now  I  hear,1 
The  wild  blast  sighing  deep  and  drear, 
When  fires  were  bright,  and  lamps  beam'd  gay, 
And  ladies  tuned  the  lovely  lay ; 
And  he  was  held  a  laggard  soul, 
Who  shunn'd  to  quaff  the  sparkling  bowL 
Then  he,  whose  absence  we  deplore,2 
Who  breathes  the  gales  of  Devon's  shore, 
The  longer  miss'd,  bewail  the  more ; 

And  thou,  and  I,  and  dear-loved  R ,3 

And  one  whose  name  I  may  not  say,  —  4 

1  MS. — "  When  light  we  heard  what  now  I  hear." 

2 Colin  Mackenzie,  Esq.,  of  Portmore.  See  Border  Min- 
strelsy, vol.  iv. 

8 Sir  William  Rae  of  St.  Catharine's,  Bart.,  subsequently 
Lord  Advocate  of  Scotland,  was  a  distinguished  member  of  the 
volunteer  corps  to  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  belonged ;  and  he, 
the  Poet,  Mr.  Skene,  Mr.  Mackenzie,  and  a  few  other  friends, 
had  formed  themselves  into  a  little  semi-military  club,  the 
meetings  of  which  were  held  at  their  family  supper-tables  in 
rotation. 

4 The  gentleman  whose  name  the  Poet  "might  not  say" 
will  now,  it  is  presumed,  pardon  its  introduction.  The  late 
Sir  William  Forbes,  of  Pitsligo,  Bart.,  son  of  the  author  of  the 
Life  of  Beattie,  was  another  member  of  this  volunteer  corps 
and  club. 

10 


146  MARMION. 

For  not  Mimosa's  tender  tree 

Shrinks  sooner  from  the  touch  than  he,  — 

In  merry  chorus  well  combined, 

With  laughter  drown'd  the  whistling  wind. 

Mirth  was  within ;  and  care  without 

Might  gnaw  her  nails  to  hear  our  shout. 

Not  but  amid  the  buxom  scene 

Some  grave  discourse  might  intervene  — 

Of  the  good  horse  that  bore  him  best, 

His  shoulder,  hoof,  and  arching  crest : 

For,  like  mad  Tom's,1  our  chiefest  care, 

Was  horse  to  ride,  and  weapon  wear. 

Such  nights  we've  had ;  and,  though  the  game  2 

Of  manhood  be  more  sober  tame, 

And  though  the  field-day,  or  the  drill, 

Seem  less  important  now  —  yet  still 

Such  may  we  hope  to  share  again. 

The  sprightly  thought  inspires  my  strain ! 

And  mark,  how,  like  a  horseman  true, 

Lord  Marmion's  march  I  thus  renew. 

1  See  King  Lear. 

ZMS. — "  Such  nights  we've  had  ;  and  though  our  game 
Advance  of  years  may  something  tame." 


MAKMION. 

CANTO   FOURTH. 


THE   CAMP. 


EUSTACE,  I  said,  did  blithely  mark 
The  first  notes  of  the  merry  lark. 
The  lark  sang  shrill,  the  cock  he  crew, 
And  loudly  Marmion's  bugles  blew, 
And  with  their  light  and  lively  call, 
Brought  groom  and  yoeman  to  the  stall 
Whistling  they  came,  and  free  of  heart, 

But  soon  their  mood  was  changed ; 
Complaint  was  heard  on  every  part, 

Of  something  disarranged. 
Some  clamour'd  loud  for  armour  lost ; 
Some  brawl'd  and  wrangled  with  the  host ; 
By  Becket's  bones,"  cried  one,  "  I  fear,1 
That  some  false  Scot  has  stolen  my  spear  ! "  — 
Young  Blount,  Lord  Marmion's  second  squire, 
Found  his  steed  wet  with  sweat  and  mire ; 

i MS.  —  "  '  By  Becket's  bones,'  cried  one,  '  I  swear. '  " 


148  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

Although  the  rated  horse-boy  sware, 
Last  night  he  dress'd  him  sleek  and  fair. 
While  chafed  the  impatient  squire  like  thunder, 
Old  Hubert  shouts,  in  fear  and  wonder,  — 

"  Help,  gentle  Blount !  help,  comrades  all ! 
Bevis  lies  dying  in  his  stall : 
To  Marmion  who  the  plight  dare  tell, 
Of  the  good  steed  he  loves  so  well  ?  "  — 
Gaping  for  fear  and  ruth,  they  saw 
The  charger  panting  on  his  straw ; l 
Till  one,  who  would  seem  wisest,  cried,  — 

"  What  else  but  evil  could  betide, 
With  that  cursed  Palmer  for  our  guide  ? 
Better  we  had  through  mire  and  bush 
Been  lantern-led  by  Friar  Bush."  2 


II. 

Fitz-Eustace,  who  the  cause  but  guess'd, 
Nor  wholly  understood, 

1  MS.  —  "  The  good  horse  panting  on  the  straw." 

2  Alias,  "  Will  o'  the  Wisp."     This  personage  is  a  strolling 
demon,  or  esprit  follet,  who,  once  upon  a  time,  got  admittance 
into  a  monastery  as  a  scullion,  and  played  the  monks  many 
pranks.     He  was  also  a  sort  of  Robin  Goodfellow,  and  Jack  o' 
Lanthern.     It  is  in  allusion  to  this  mischievous  demon  that 
Milton's  clown  speaks : 

"  She  was  pinched,  and  pulled,  she  said, 
And  he  by  Friar's  lanthern  led." 

The  History  of  Friar  Rush  is  of  extreme  rarity,  and,  for  some 
time,  even  the  existence  of  such  a  book  was  doubted,  although 
it  is  expressly  alluded  to  by  Reginald  Scot,  in  his  Discovery  of 
Witchcraft.  I  have  perused  a  copy  in  the  valuable  library  of 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  149 

His  comrades'  clamorous  plaints  suppress'd  ; 

He  knew  Lord  Marmion's  mood. 
Him,  ere  he  issued  forth,  he  sought, 
And  found  deep  plunged  in  gloomy  thought, 

And  did  his  tale  display 
Simply,  as  if  he  knew  of  nought 

To  cause  such  disarray. 
Lord  Marmion  gave  attention  cold, 
Nor  marvell'd  at  the  wonders  told, — 
Pass'd  them  as  accidents  of  course, 
And  bade  his  clarions  sound  to  horsa 


III. 

Young  Henry  Blount,  meanwhile,  the  cost 
Had  reckon'd  with  their  Scottish  host ; 
And,  as  the  charge  he  cast  and  paid, 

"  111  thou  deservest  thy  hire,"  he  said ; 

"  Dost  see,  thou  knave,  my  horse's  plight  ? 
Fairies  have  ridden  him  all  the  night, 

And  left  him  in  a  foam ! 
I  trust,  that  soon  a  conjuring  band, 
With  English  cross,  and  blazing  brand,1 
Shall  drive  the  devils  from  this  land, 

To  their  infernal  home : 
For  in  this  haunted  den,  I  trow, 
All  night  they  trampled  to  and  fro."  — 

my  friend,  Mr.  Heber  ;  and  I  observe,  from  Mr.  Beloe's  Anec- 
dotes of  Literature,  that  there  is  one  in  the  excellent  collection 
of  the  Marquis  of  Stafford. 

1  MS.  —  "  With  bloody  cross  and  fiery  brand." 


ISO  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

The  laughing  host  look'd  on  the  hire,  — 
"Gramercy,  gentle  southern  squire, 
And  if  thou  comest  among  the  rest, 
With  Scottish  broadsword  to  be  blest, 
Sharp  be  the  brand,  and  sure  the  blow, 
And  short  the  pang  to  undergo." 
Here  stay'd  their  talk,  —  for  Marmion 
Gave  now  the  signal  to  set  on. 
The  Palmer  showing  forth  the  way, 
They  journey'd  all  the  morning  day.1 

IV. 

The  greensward  way  was  smooth  and  good, 

Through  Humbie's  and  through  Saltoun's  wood ; 

A  forest  glade,  which,  varying  still, 

Here  gave  a  view  of  dale  and  hill, 

There  narrower  closed,  till  overhead 

A  vaulted  screen  the  branches  made. 
"  A  pleasant  path,"  Fitz-Eustace  said  ; 
"  Such  as  where  errant-knights  might  see 

Adventures  of  high  chivalry  ; 

Might  meet  some  damsel  flying  fast, 

With  hair  unbound,  and  looks  aghast ; 

And  smooth  and  level  course  were  here, 

In  her  defence  to  break  a  spear. 

Here,  too,  are  twilight  nooks  and  dells ; 

And  oft,  in  such,  the  story  tells, 

The  damsel  kind,  from  danger  freed, 

Did  grateful  pay  her  champion's  meed." 

1  MS.  —  "They  journeyed  till  the  middle  day.'* 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  151 

He  spoke  to  cheer  Lord  Marmion's  mind ; 
Perchance  to  show  his  lore  design'd ; 

For  Eustace  much  had  pored 
Upon  a  huge  romantic  tome,1 
In  the  hall-window  of  his  home, 
Imprinted  at  the  antique  dome 

Of  Caxton,  or  de  Worde.2 
Therefore  he  spoke,  —  but  spoke  in  vain, 
For  Marmion  answer'd  nought  again. 

V. 

Now  sudden,  distant  trumpets  shrill, 
In  notes  prolong'd  by  wood  and  hill, 

Were  heard  to  echo  far ; 
Each  ready  archer  grasp'd  his  bow, 
But  by  the  flourish  soon  they  know, 

They  breathed  no  point  of  war. 
Yet  cautious,  as  in  foeman's  land, 
Lord  Marmion's  order  speeds  the  band, 

Some  opener  ground  to  gain ; 
And  scarce  a  furlong  had  they  rode, 
When  thinner  trees,  receding,  shoVd 

A  little  woodland  plain. 
Just  in  that  advantageous  glade, 
The  halting  troop  a  line  had  made, 

1  MS.  —  "  Upon  a  black  and  ponderous  tome." 

2  William  Caxton,  the  earliest  English  printer,  was  born  ia 
Kent,  A.  D.  1412,  and  died  1491.     Wynken  de  Worde  was  his 
next  successor  in  the  production  of  those 

"Bare  volumes,  dark  with  tarnish'd  gold," 
which  are  now  the  delight  of  bibliomaniacs. 


i  S2  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

As  forth  from  the  opposing  shade 
Issued  a  gallant  train. 

VI. 

First  came  the  trumpets,  at  whose  clang 
So  late  the  forest  echoes  rang ; 
On  prancing  steeds  they  forward  press'd, 
With  scarlet  mantle,  azure  vest ; 
Each  at  his  tramp  a  banner  wore, 
Which  Scotland's  royal  scutcheon 1  bore : 
Heralds  and  pursuivants,  by  name 
Bute,  Islay,  Marchmount,  Eothsay,  came, 
In  painted  tabards,  proudly  showing 
Gules,  Argent,  Or,  and  Azure  glowing, 

Attendant  on  a  King-at-arms, 
Whose  hand  the  armorial  truncheon  held, 
That  feudal  strife  had  often  quell'd, 

When  wildest  its  alarms. 

VII. 

He  was  a  man  of  middle  age ; 
In  aspect  manly,  grave,  and  sage, 

As  on  King's  errand  come ; 
But  in  the  glances  of  his  eye, 
A  penetrating,  keen,  and  sly 

Expression  found  its  home ; 
The  flash  of  that  satiric  rage, 
Which,  bursting  on  the  early  stage, 
Branded  the  vices  of  the  age, 

lrThe  MS.  has  "  Scotland's  royal  Lion  "  here  ;  in  line  9th, 
"  scarlet  tabards ;  "  and  in  line  12th,  "  blazoned  truncheon." 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  153 

And  broke  the  keys  of  Borne.1 
On  milk-white  palfrey  forth  he  paced ; 
His  cap  of  maintenance  was  graced 

With  the  proud  heron-plume. 
From  his  steed's  shoulder,  loin,  and  breast, 

Silk  housings  swept  the  ground, 
With  Scotland's  arms,  device,  and  crest, 

Embroider'd  round  and  round. 
The  double  tressure  might  you  see, 

First  by  Achaius  borne, 
The  thistle  and  the  fleur-de-lis, 

And  gallant  unicorn.2 
So  bright  the  King's  armorial  coat, 
That  scarce  the  dazzled  eye  could  note, 
In  living  colours,  blazon'd  brave, 
The  Lion,  which  his  title  gave, 
A  train,  which  well  beseem'd  his  state, 
But  all  unarm'd,  around  him  wait. 
Still  is  thy  name  in  high  account, 
And  still  thy  verse  has  charms, 
Sir  David  Lindesay  of  the  Mount, 
Lord  Lion  King-at-arms ! 3 

VIII. 

Down  from  his  horse  did  Marmion  spring, 
Soon  as  he  saw  the  Lion-King ; 

1  MS.  —  "  The  flash  of  that  satiric  rage, 

Which,  bursting  from  the  early  stage, 
Lash'd  the  coarse  vices  of  the  age,"  etc. 

2 3fS.  —  "Silver  unicorn."    This,  and  the  seven  preceding 
lines,  are  interpolated  in  the  blank  page  of  the  MS. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 


154  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

For  well  the  stately  Baron  knew 
To  him  such  courtesy  was  due, 
Whom  royal  James  himself  had  crown'd, 
And  on  his  temples  placed  the  round 

Of  Scotland's  ancient  diadem : 
And  wet  his  brow  with  hallow'd  wine, 
And  on  his  finger  given  to  shine 

The  emblematic  gem. 
Their  mutual  greetings  duly  made, 
The  Lion  thus  his  message  said :  — 
"  Though  Scotland's  King  hath  deeply  swore l 
Ne'er  to  knit  faith  with  Henry  more, 
And  strictly  hath  forbid  resort 
From  England  to  his  royal  court ; 
Yet,  for  he  knows  Lord  Marmion's  name, 
And  honours  much  his  warlike  fame, 
My  liege  hath  deem'd  it  shame,  and  lack 
Of  courtesy,  to  turn  him  back ; 
And,  by  his  order,  I,  your  guide, 
Must  lodging  fit  and  fair  provide, 
Till  finds  King  James  meet  time  to  see 
The  flower  of  English  chivalry." 

IX. 

Though  inly  chafed  at  this  delay, 
Lord  Marmion  bears  it  as  he  may. 
The  Palmer,  his  mysterious  guide, 
Beholding  thus  his  place  supplied, 
Sought  to  take  leave  in  vain : 

1  MS.  —  "  The  Lion-King  his  message  said  :  — 

'  My  Liege  hath  deep  and  deadly  swore,'  "  etc. 


Crichtoim  Castle. 

Photogravure  —  from  Drawing  by  J   M.  W.  Turner,  R.  A. 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  155 

Strict  was  the  Lion-King's  command, 
That  none,  who  rode  in  Marmion's  band, 

Should  sever  from  the  train : 
"  England  has  here  enow  of  spies 
In  Lady  Heron's  witching  eyes : " 
To  Marchmount  thus,  apart,  he  said, 
But  fair  pretext  to  Marmion  made. 
The  right  hand  path  they  now  decline, 
And  trace  against  the  stream  the  Tyne. 

X. 

At  length  up  that  wild  dale  they  wind, 

Where  Crichtoun  Castle 1  crowns  the  bank ; 
For  there  the  Lion's  care  assigned 

A  lodging  meet  for  Marmion's  rank 
That  Castle  rises  on  the  steep 

Of  the  green  vale  of  Tyne : 
And  far  beneath,  where  slow  they  creep, 
From  pool  to  eddy,  dark  and  deep, 
Where  alders  moist,  and  willows  weep, 

You  hear  her  streams  repine.2 
The  towers  in  different  ages  rose ; 
Their  various  architecture  shows 

The  builders'  various  hands ; 
A  mighty  mass,  that  could  oppose,3 
When  deadliest  hatred  fired  its  foes, 

The  vengeful  Douglas  bands. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  K.     For  a  fuller  description  of  Crich- 
ton  Castle,  see  Scott's  Provincial  Antiquities  of  Scotland,  vol.  i. 

2  MS.  —  "  Her  lazy  streams  repine." 

8  MS.  —  "  But  the  huge  mass  could  well  oppose." 


156  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

XL 

Crichtoun !  though  now  thy  miry  court 

But  pens  the  lazy  steer  and  sheep, 

Thy  turrets  rude,  and  totter'd  Keep, 
Have  been  the  minstrel's  loved  resort. 
Oft  have  I  traced,  within  thy  fort, 

Of  mouldering  shields  the  mystic  sense,1 

Scutcheons  of  honour,  or  pretence 
Quarter'd  in  old  armorial  sort, 

Remains  of  rude  magnificence. 
Nor  wholly  yet  had  time  defaced 

Thy  lordly  gallery  fair ; 
Nor  yet  the  stony  cord  unbraced, 
Whose  twisted  notes,  with  roses  laced, 

Adorn  thy  ruin'd  stair. 
Still  rises  unimpair'd  below, 
The  courtyard's  graceful  portico ; 
Above  its  cornice,  row  and  row 

Of  fair  hewn  facets  richly  show 
Their  pointed  diamond  form, 

Though  there  but  houseless  cattle  go, 
To  shield  them  from  the  storm. 

And,  shuddering,  still  may  we  explore, 
Where  oft  whilom  were  captives  pent, 

The  darkness  of  thy  Massy  More ; 2 

Or,  from  thy  grass-grown  battlement, 
May  trace,  in  undulating  line, 
The  sluggish  mazes  of  the  Tyne. 

1  MS.  —  "Of  many  a  mouldering  shield  the  sense." 
a  The  pit,  or  prison  vault.  —  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  157 

XII. 

Another  aspect  Crichtoun  show'd, 
As  through  its  portal  Marmion  rode ; 
But  yet  'twas  melancholy  state 
Keceived  him  at  the  outer  gate ; 
For  none  were  in  the  Castle  then, 
But  women,  boys,  or  aged  men. 
With  eyes  scarce  dried,  the  sorrowing  dame, 
To  welcome  noble  Marmion,  came ; 
Her  son,  a  stripling  twelve  years  old, 
Proffer'd  the  Baron's  rein  to  hold ; 
For  each  man  that  could  draw  a  sword 
Had  march'd  that  morning  with  their  lord, 
Earl  Adam  Hepburn,  —  he  who  died 
On  Flodden,  by  his  sovereign's  side,1 
Long  may  his  Lady  look  in  vain ! 
She  ne'er  shall  see  his  gallant  train,2 

1  He  was  the  second  Earl  of  Bothwell,  and  fell  in  the  field 
of  Flodden,  where,  according  to  an  ancient  English  poet,  he 
distinguished  himself  by  a  furious  attempt  to  retrieve  the 
day: 

"  Then  on  the  Scottish  part,  right  proud, 

The  Earl  of  Bothwell  then  out  brast, 
And  stepping  forth,  with  stomach  good, 

Into  the  enemies'  throng  he  thrast ; 
And  Bothwell !  Bothwell !  cried  bold, 

To  cause  his  souldiers  to  ensue, 
But  there  he  caught  a  wellcoine  cold, 

The  Englishmen  straight  down  him  threw. 
Thus  Haburn  through  his  hardy  heart 

His  fatal  fine  in  conflict  found,"  etc. 
—  Flodden  Field,  a  Poem  ;  edited  by  H.  Weber,  Edin.,  1808. 

2  MS.  —  "  Well  might  his  gentle  Lady  mourn, 

Doom'd  ne'er  to  see  her  Lord's  return." 


I  $8  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

Come  sweeping  back  through  Crichtoun-Dean. 
'Twas  a  brave  race,  before  the  name 
Of  hated  Both  well  stain'd  their  .fame.1 

XIII. 

And  here  two  days  did  Marmion  rest, 
With  every  rite  that  honour  claims, 

Attended  as  the  King's  own  guest ;  — 
Such  the  command  of  Eoyal  James, 

Who  marshall'd  then  his  land's  array, 

Upon  the  Borough-moor  that  lay. 

Perchance  he  would  not  foeman's  eye 

Upon  his  gathering  host  should  pry, 

Till  full  prepared  was  every  band 

To  march  against  the  English  land. 

Here  while  they  dwelt,  did  Lindesay's  wit 

Oft  cheer  the  Baron's  moodier  fit ; 

And,  in  his  turn,  he  knew  to  prize 

Lord  Marmion's  powerful  mind,  and  wise, — 

Train'd  in  the  lore  of  Rome  and  Greece, 

And  policies  of  war  and  peace.2 


XIV. 

It  chanced,  as  fell  the  second  night, 
That  on  the  battlements  they  walk'd, 

1Adam  was  grandfather  to  James,  Earl  of  Bothwell,  too 
well  known  in  the  history  of  Queen  Mary. 

2  .MS.  —  "  Nor  less  the  Herald  Monarch  knew 
The  Baron's  powers  to  value  true  — 
Hence  confidence  between  them  grew." 


Canto  I V.  THE   CAMP.  159 

And,  by  the  slowly  fading  light, 

Of  varying  topics  talk'd ; 
And,  unaware,  the  Herald-bard l 
Said,  Marmion  might  his  toil  have  spared, 

In  travelling  so  far ; 
For  that  a  messenger  from  heaven 
In  vain  to  James  had  counsel  given 

Against  the  English  war : 2 
And,  closer  question'd,  thus  he  told 
A  tale,  which  chronicles  of  old 
In  Scottish  story  have  enroll'd : 

XV. 

SIR  DAVID  LINDESAY'S  TALE. 
*  Of  all  the  palaces  so  fair,8 

Built  for  the  royal  dwelling, 
In  Scotland,  far  beyond  compare 
Linlithgow  is  excelling ; 4 

1MS.  —  "Then  fell  from  Lindesay,  unaware, 

That  Marmion  might  )  ,  . 

,.       .         .  ,  .        .   >•  his  labour  spare." 

Marmion  might  well  ) 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

8  In  some  places  Mr.  Scott's  love  of  variety  has  betrayed 
him  into  strange  imitations.  This  is  evidently  formed  on  the 
school  of  Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  — 

"  Of  all  the  palaces  so  fair,"  etc. 

— Jeffrey. 

4  In  Scotland  there  are  about  twenty  palaces,  castles,  and 
remains,  or  sites  of  such, 

"  Where  Scotia' s  kings  of  other  years  " 
had  their  royal  home. 

Linlithgow,   distinguished  by  the  combined  strength  and 


160  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

And  in  its  park,  in  jovial  June, 
How  sweet  the  merry  linnet's  tune, 

How  blithe  the  blackbird's  lay ! 
The  wild-buck  bells l  from  ferny  brake, 
The  coot  dives  merry  on  the  lake, 
The  saddest  heart  might  pleasure  take 

To  see  all  nature  gay. 

beauty  of  its  situation,  must  have  been  early  selected  as  a  royal 
residence.  David,  who  bought  the  title  of  saint  by  his  liberality 
to  the  Church,  refers  several  of  his  charters  to  his  town  of 
Linlithgow  ;  and  in  that  of  Holyrood  expressly  bestows  on  the 
new  monastery  all  the  skins  of  the  rams,  ewes,  and  lambs 
belonging  to  his  castle  of  Linlitcu  which  shall  die  during  the 
year.  .  .  .  The  convenience  afforded  for  the  sport  of  falconry, 
which  was  so  great  a  favourite  during  the  feudal  ages,  was 
probably  one  cause  of  the  attachment  of  the  ancient  Scottish 
monarchs  to  Linlithgow  and  its  fine  lake.  The  sport  of  hunt- 
ing was  also  followed  with  success  in  the  neighbourhood,  from 
which  circumstance  it  probably  arises  that  the  ancient  arms  of 
the  city  represent  a  black  greyhound  bitch  tied  to  a  tree.  .  .  . 
The  situation  of  Linlithgow  Palace  is  eminently  beautiful.  It 
stands  on  a  promontory  of  some  elevation,  which  advances 
almost  into  the  midst  of  the  lake.  The  form  is  that  of  a  square 
court,  composed  of  buildings  of  four  stories  high,  with  towers 
at  the  angles.  The  fronts  within  the  square  and  the  windows 
are  highly  ornamented,  and  the  size  of  the  rooms,  as  well  as 
the  width  and  character  of  the  staircases,  are  upon  a  magnifi- 
cent scale.  One  banquet-room  is  ninety-four  feet  long,  thirty 
feet  wide,  and  thirty-three  feet  high,  with  a  gallery  for  music. 
The  king's  wardrobe,  or  dressing-room,  looking  to  the  west, 
projects  over  the  walls,  so  as  to  have  a  delicious  prospect  on 
three  sides,  and  is  one  of  the  most  enviable  boudoirs  we  have 
ever  seen.  — Sir  Walter  ScotVs  Provincial  Antiquities. 

1 1  am  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  describe  the  cry  of  the  deer 
by  another  word  than  braying,  although  the  latter  has  been 
sanctified  by  the  use  of  the  Scottish  metrical  translation  of  the 
Psalms.  Bell  seems  to  be  an  abbreviation  of  bellow.  This 


Linlithgow. 

Photogravure  —  from  Drawing  by  A.  W.  Callcott.  R.  A. 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  161 

But  June  is  to  our  Sovereign  dear 
The  heaviest  month  in  all  the  year : 
Too  well  his  cause  of  grief  you  know, 
June  saw  his  father's  overthrow.1 
Woe  to  the  traitors,  who  could  bring 
The  princely  boy  against  his  King ! 
Still  in  his  conscience  burns  the  sting. 
In  offices  as  strict  as  Lent, 
King  James's  June  is  ever  spent.2 

XVL 

"  When  last  this  ruthful  month  was  come, 
And  in  Linlithgow's  holy  dome 
The  King,  as  wont,  was  praying; 

silvan  sound  conveyed  great  delight  to  our  ancestors,  chiefly, 
I  suppose,  from  association.  A  gentle  knight  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  VIII.,  Sir  Thomas  Wortley,  built  Wantley  Lodge,  in 
Wancliffe  Forest,  for  the  pleasure  (as  an  ancient  inscription 
testifies)  of  "  listening  to  the  hart's  bell." 

1The  rebellion  against  James  III.  was  signalised  by  the 
cruel  circumstance  of  his  son's  presence  in  the  hostile  army. 
When  the  king  saw  his  own  banner  displayed  against  him,  and 
his  son  in  the  faction  of  his  enemies,  he  lost  the  little  courage 
he  had  ever  possessed,  fled  out  of  the  field,  fell  from  his  horse 
as  it  started  at  a  woman  and  water-pitcher,  and  was  slain,  it 
is  not  well  understood  by  whom.  James  IV.,  after  the  battle, 
passed  to  Stirling,  and  hearing  the  monks  of  the  chapel-royal 
deploring  the  death  of  his  father,  their  founder,  he  was  seized 
with  deep  remorse,  which  manifested  itself  in  severe  penances. 
See  a  following  note  on  stanza  ix.  of  canto  v.  The  battle  of 
Sauchie-burn,  in  which  James  III.  fell,  was  fought  18th  June, 
1488. 

a MS.  —  "In  offices  as  strict  as  Lent, 

And  penances  his  Junes  are  spent." 
11 


162  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

While,  for  his  royal  father's  soul, 
The  chanters  sung,  the  bells  did  toll, 

The  Bishop  mass  was  saying  — 
For  now  the  year  brought  round  again 1 
The  day  the  luckless  King  was  slain  — 
In  Katharine's  aisle  the  Monarch  knelt, 
With  sackcloth-shirt,  and  iron  belt, 
And  eyes  with  sorrow  streaming ; 
Around  him  in  their  stalls  of  state, 
The  Thistle's  Knight-Companions  sate, 

Their  banners  o'er  them  beaming. 
I  too  was  there,  and,  sooth  to  tell, 
Bedeafen'd  with  the  jangling  knell, 
Was  watching  where  the  sunbeams  fell, 

Through  the  stain'd  casement  gleaming  ; 
But,  while  I  mark'd  what  next  befell, 
It  seem'd  as  I  were  dreaming. 

Stepp'd  from  the  crowd  a  ghostly  wight, 

In  azure  gown,  with  cincture  white  ; 

His  forehead  bald,  his  head  was  bare, 

Down  hung  at  length  his  yellow  hair.  — 

Now,  mock  me  not,  when,  good  my  Lord, 

I  pledge  to  you  my  knightly  word, 

That,  when  I  saw  his  placid  grace, 

His  simple  majesty  of  face, 

His  solemn  bearing,  and  his  pace 

1  MS.  —  "  For  now  the  year  brought  round  again 

The  very  day  that  he  }wasslain_ 

The  day  that  the  third  James  > 

In  Katharine's  aisle  the  Monarch  kneels, 

And  folded  hands  )  ghowg  whafc  he  f eelg  „ 

And  hands  sore  clasped  > 


Canto  IV.  THE    CAMP.  163 

So  stately  gliding  on,  — 
Seem'd  to  me  ne'er  did  limner  paint 
So  just  an  image  of  the  Saint, 
Who  propp'd  the  Virgin  in  her  faint,  — 

The  loved  Apostle  John  ! 

XVII. 

"  He  stepp'd  before  the  Monarch's  chair, 
And  stood  with  rustic  plainness  there, 

And  little  reverence  made ; 
Nor  head,  nor  body,  bow*d  nor  bent, 
But  on  the  desk  his  arm  he  leant, 

And  words  like  these  he  said, 
In  a  low  voice,  —  but  never  tone 1 
So  thrill'd  through  vein,  and  nerve,  and  bone :  — 
*  My  mother  sent  me  from  afar, 
Sir  King,  to  warn  thee  not  to  war,  — 

Woe  waits  on  thine  array ! 
If  war  thou  wilt,  of  woman  fair,2 
Her  witching  wiles  and  wanton  snare, 
James  Stuart,  doubly  warn'd,  beware : 

God  keep  thee  as  he  may  ! '  — 

The  wondering  Monarch  seem'd  to  seek 
For  answer,  and  found  none ; 

And  when  he  raised  his  head  to  speak, 
The  monitor  was  gone. 

1  MS.  —  "  In  a  low  voice — but  every  tone 

Thrill'd  through  the  listener'1  s  vein  and  bone." 

8  MS.  —  "  And  if  to  war  thou  needs  wilt  fare 

Of  wanton  wiles  and  woman's  ) 

>  snare. 
Of  woman's  wiles  and  wanton  ) 


164  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

The  Marshal  and  myself  had  cast 
To  stop  him  as  he  outward  pass'd ; 
But,  lighter  than  the  whirlwind's  blast, 

He  vanish'd  from  our  eyes, 
Like  sunbeam  on  the  billow  cast, 

That  glances  but,  and  dies." 


XVIII. 

While  Lindesay  told  his  marvel  strange, 

The  twilight  was  so  pale, 
He  mark'd  not  Marmion's  colour  change, 

While  listening  to  the  tale : 
But,  after  a  suspended  pause, 
The  Baron  spoke :  —  "Of  Nature's  laws 

So  strong  I  held  the  force, 
That  never  superhuman  cause 

Could  e'er  control  their  course; 
And,  three  days  since,  had  judged  your  aim 
Was  but  to  make  your  guest  your  game. 
But  I  have  seen,  since  past  the  Tweed,1 
What  much  has  changed  my  sceptic  creed, 
And  made  me  credit  aught."  —  He  staid, 
And  seem'd  to  wish  his  words  unsaid : 
But,  by  that  strong  emotion  press'd, 
Which  prompts  us  to  unload  our  breast, 

Even  when  discovery's  pain, 
To  Lindesay  did  at  length  unfold 


1  MS.  —  "  But  events,  since  I  cross'd  the  Tweed, 
Have  undermined  my  sceptic  creed." 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  165 

The  tale  his  village  host  had  told, 

At  Gifford,  to  his  train. 
Nought  of  the  Palmer  says  he  there, 
And  nought  of  Constance,  or  of  Clare ; 
The  thoughts,  which  broke  his  sleep,  he  seems 
To  mention  but  as  feverish  dreams. 

XIX. 

"  In  vain,"  said  he,  "  to  rest  I  spread 

My  burning  limbs,  and  couch'd  my  head : 
Fantastic  thoughts  return'd ; 

And,  by  their  wild  dominion  led, 

My  heart  within  me  burn'd.1 

So  sore  was  the  delirious  goad, 

I  took  my  steed,  and  forth  I  rode, 

And,  as  the  moon  shone  bright  and  cold, 

Soon  reach'd  the  camp  upon  the  wold. 

The  southern  entrance  I  pass'd  through, 

And  halted,  and  my  bugle  blew. 

Methought  an  answer  met  my  ear, — 

Yet  was  the  blast  so  low  and  drear,2 

So  hollow,  and  so  faintly  blown, 

It  might  be  echo  of  my  own. 

1  MS.  —  "  In  vain,"  said  he,  "  to  rest  I  laid 

My  burning  limbs,  and  throbbing  head  — 
Fantastic  thoughts  return'd ; 

)led, 
And,  by  their  wild  dominion  >•  sway'd, 

)  sped, 

My  heart  within  me  burn'd." 

2  MS.  —  "  And  yet  it  was  so  low  and  drear." 


1 66  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

XX. 

"  Thus  judging,  for  a  little  space 
I  listen'd,  ere  I  left  the  place ; 

But  scarce  could  trust  my  eyes, 
Nor  yet  can  think  they  served  me  true, 
When  sudden  in  the  ring  I  view, 
In  form  distinct  of  shape  and  hue, 

A  mounted  cnampion  rise.  — 
I've  fought,  Lord-Lion,  many  a  day,1 
In  single  fight,  and  mix'd  affray, 
And  ever,  I  myself  may  say, 

Have  borne  me  as  a  knight ; 
But  when  this  unexpected  foe 
Seem'd  starting  from  the  gulf  below,  — 
I  care  not  though  the  truth  I  show,  — 

I  trembled  with  affright ; 
And  as  I  placed  in  rest  my  spear, 
My  hand  so  shook  for  very  fear, 

I  scarce  could  couch  it  right. 

XXI. 

"  Why  need  my  tongue  the  issue  tell  ? 
We  ran  our  course,  —  my  charger  fell ;  — 
What  could  he  'gainst  the  shock  of  hell  ?  — 

I  roll'd  upon  the  plain. 
High  o'er  my  head,  with  threatening  hand, 
The  spectre  shook  his  naked  brand,  —  2 

1  MS.  —  "  I've  been,  Lord-Lion,  many  a  day, 

In  combat  single,  or  me'le'e." 
8  MS.  —  "  The  spectre  shook  his  naked  brand,  — 
Tet  doth  the  worst  remain : 


The  Lady  Clare. 

Photogravure  —  from  Drawing  by  T.  Phillips,  R.  A. 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  167 

Yet  did  the  worst  remain : 
My  dazzled  eyes  I  upward  cast,  — 
Not  opening  hell  itself  could  blast 

Their  sight,  like  what  I  saw ! 
Full  on  his  face  the  moonbeam  strook,  — 
A  face  could  never  be  mistook ! 
I  knew  the  stern  vindictive  look, 

And  held  my  breath  for  awe. 

I  saw  the  face  of  one  who,  fled l 
To  foreign  climes,  has  long  been  dead,  — 

I  well  believe  the  last ; 
For  ne'er,  from  vizor  raised,  did  stare 
A  human  warrior,  with  a  glare 

So  grimly  and  so  ghast. 
Thrice  o'er  my  head  he  shook  the  blade ; 
But  when  to  good  Saint  George  I  pray'd, 
(The  first  time  e'er  I  ask'd  his  aid,) 

He  plunged  it  in  the  sheath ; 
And,  on  his  courser  mounting  light, 
He  seem'd  to  vanish  from  my  sight : 
The  moonbeam  droop'd,  and  deepest  night 

Sunk  down  upon  the  heath.  — 

My  reeling  eyes  I  upward  cast,  — 

But  opening  hell  could  never  blast 

Their  sight  like  what  I  saw." 

1  MS,  —  "I  knew  the  face  of  one  long  dead, 

Or  who  to  foreign  climes  hath  fled  .  .  . 

I  knew  the  face  of  one  who  fled 
To  foreign  climes,  or  long  since  dead — 
I  well  mav  judge  the  last." 


1 68  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

'Twere  long  to  tell  what  cause  I  have 

To  know  his  face,  that  met  me  there, 
Call'd  by  his  hatred  from  the  grave, 

To  cumber  upper  air  : 
Dead,  or  alive,  good  cause  had  he 
To  be  my  mortal  enemy." 

XXII. 

MarvelTd  Sir  David  of  the  Mount ; 
Then,  learn'd  in  story,  'gan  recount 

Such  chance  had  happ'd  of  old, 
When  once,  near  Norham,  there  did  fight 
A  spectre  fell  of  fiendish  might, 
In  likeness  of  a  Scottish  knight, 

With  Brian  Bulmer  bold, 
And  train'd  him  nigh  to  disallow 
The  aid  of  his  baptismal  vow. 
"  And  such  a  phantom,  too,  'tis  said, 
With  Highland  broadsword,  targe,  and  plaid, 

And  fingers  red  with  gore, 
Is  seen  in  Rothiemurcus  glade, 
Or  where  the  sable  pine-trees  shade 
Dark  Tomantoul,  and  Auchnaslaid, 

Dromouchty,  or  Glenmore.1 
And  yet,  whate'er  such  legends  say, 
Of  warlike  demon,  ghost,  or  fay, 

On  mountain,  moor,  or  plain, 

1  See  the  traditions  concerning  Bulmer,  and  the  spectre  called 
Lhamdearg,  or  Bloody-hand,  in  a  note  on  canto  iii.  [Appen- 
dix, Note  H.] 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  169 

Spotless  in  faith,  in  bosom  bold,1 
True  son  of  chivalry  should  hold 

These  midnight  terrors  vain ; 
For  seldom  have  such  spirits  power 
To  harm,  save  in  the  evil  hour, 
When  guilt  we  meditate  within,2 
Or  harbour  unrepented  sin."  — 
Lord  Marmion  turn'd  him  half  aside, 
And  twice  to  clear  his  voice  he  tried, 

Then  press'd  Sir  David's  hand,  — 
But  nought,  at  length,  in  answer  said; 
And  here  their  farther  converse  staid, 

Each  ordering  that  his  band 
Should  bowne  them  with  the  rising  day, 
To  Scotland's  camp  to  take  their  way,  — 

Such  was  the  King's  command. 
Early  they  took  Dun-Edin's  road, 
And  I  could  trace  each  step  they  trode : 
Hill,  brook,  nor  dell,  nor  rock,  nor  stone, 
Lies  on  the  path  to  me  unknown. 
Much  might  it  boast  of  storied  lore ; 
But,  passing  such  digression  o'er, 
Suffice  it  that  their  route  was  laid 
Across  the  furzy  hills  of  Braid. 
They  pass'd  the  glen  and  scanty  rill, 
And  climb'd  the  opposing  bank,  until 
They  gain'd  the  top  of  Blackford  HilL 


1  MS.  —  "  Of  spotless  faith,  and  bosom  bold." 
8  MS.  —  "  When  mortals  meditate  within 
Fresh  guilt,  or  unrepented  sin." 


1 70  MAKMION.  Canto  IV. 

XXIV. 

Blackford !  on  whose  uncultured  breast, 

Among  the  broom,  and  thorn,  and  whin, 
A  truant-boy,  I  sought  the  nest, 
Or  listed,  as  I  lay  at  rest, 

While  rose,  on  breezes  thin, 
The  murmur  of  the  city  crowd, 
And,  from  his  steeple  jangling  loud 

Saint  Giles's  mingling  din. 
Now,  from  the  summit  to  the  plain, 
Waves  all  the  hill  with  yellow  grain ; 

And  o'er  the  landscape  as  I  look, 
Nought  do  I  see  unchanged  remain, 

Save  the  rude  cliffs  and  chiming  brook 
To  me  they  make  a  heavy  moan, 
Of  early  friendships  past  and  gone. 

XXV. 

But  different  far  the  change  has  been,1 

Since  Marmion,  from  the  crown 
Of  Blackford,  saw  that  martial  scene 

Upon  the  bent  so  brown : 
Thousand  pavilions,  white  as  snow, 
Spread  all  the  Borough-moor  below,2 

Upland,  and  dale,  and  down :  — 

1  MS.  —  "  But,  oh  !  far  different  change  has  been, 
Since  Marmion,  from  the  crown 
Of  Blackf  ord-hill,  upon  the  scene 
Of  Scotland's  war  look'd  down." 

3  The  Borough,  or  Common  Moor  of  Edinburgh,  was  of 
very  great  extent,  reaching  from  the  southern  walls  of  the 
city  to  the  bottom  of  Braid  Hills.  It  was  anciently  a  forest ; 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  171 

A  thousand  did  I  say  ?     I  ween, 1 
Thousands  on  thousands  there  were  seen, 
That  chequer'd  all  the  heath  between 

The  streamlet  and  the  town ; 
In  crossing  ranks  extending  far, 
Forming  a  camp  irregular ; 2 
Oft  giving  way,  where  still  there  stood 
Some  relics  of  the  old  oak  wood, 
That  darkly  huge  did  intervene, 
And  tamed  the  glaring  white  with  green : 
In  these  extended  lines  there  lay 
A  martial  kingdom's  vast  array. 

XXVI. 

For  from  Hebudes,  dark  with  rain, 
To  eastern  Lodon's  fertile  plain, 

and,  in  that  state,  was  so  great  a  nuisance  that  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Edinburgh  had  permission  granted  to  them  of  build- 
ing wooden  galleries,  projecting  over  the  street,  in  order  to 
encourage  them  to  consume  the  timber ;  which  they  seem  to 
have  done  very  effectually.  When  James  IV.  mustered  the 
array  of  the  kingdom  there,  in  1613,  the  Borough-moor  was, 
according  to  Hawthornden,  "  a  field  spacious,  and  delight- 
ful by  the  shade  of  many  stately  and  aged  oaks."  Upon  that 
and  similar  occasions,  the  royal  standard  is  traditionally  said 
to  have  been  displayed  from  the  Hare  Stane,  a  high  stone,  now 
built  into  the  wall,  on  the  left  hand  of  the  highway  leading 
toward  Braid,  not  far  from  the  head  of  Burntsfield  Links. 
The  Hare  Stane  probably  derives  its  name  from  the  British 
words  Har,  signifying  an  army. 

1  MS.  —  "A  thousand  said  the  verse  ?  I  ween, 

Thousands  on  thousands  there  were  seen, 
That  whitened  all  the  heath  between." 

2  Here  ends  the  stanza  in  the  MS. 


172  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

And  from  the  southern  Eedswire  edge, 
To  farthest  Rosse's  rocky  ledge ; 
From  west  to  east,  from  south  to  north, 
Scotland  sent  all  her  warriors  forth. 
Marmion  might  hear  the  mingled  hum 
Of  myriads  up  the  mountain  come ; 
The  horses'  tramp,  and  tingling  clank, 
Where  chiefs  review'd  their  vassal  rank, 

And  charger's  shrilling  neigh ; 
And  see  the  shifting  lines  advance, 
While  frequent  flash'd,  from  shield  and  lance, 

The  sun's  reflected  ray. 

XXVII. 

Thin  curling  in  the  morning  air, 

The  wreaths  of  failing  smoke  declare, 

To  embers  now  the  brands  decay'd, 

Where  the  night-watch  their  fires  had  made. 

They  saw,  slow  rolling  on  the  plain, 

Full  many  a  baggage-cart  and  wain, 

And  dire  artillery's  clumsy  car, 

By  sluggish  oxen  tugg'd  to  war ; 

And  there  were  Borthwick's  Sisters  Seven,1 

And  culverins  which  France  had  given. 

Ill-omen'd  gift !  the  guns  remain 

The  conqueror's  spoil  on  Flodden  plain. 

XXVIII. 

Nor  mark'd  they  less,  where  in  the  air 
A  thousand  streamers  flaunted  fair ; 

1  Seven  culverins  so  called,  cast  by  one  Borthwick. 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  173 

Various  in  shape,  device,  and  hue, 
Green,  sanguine,  purple,  red,  and  blue, 
Broad,  narrow,  swallow-tail'd,  and  square, 
Scroll,  pennon,  pensil,  bandrol,1  there 
O'er  the  pavilions  flew.2 


1  Each  of  these  feudal  ensigns  intimated  the  different  rank 
of  those  entitled  to  display  them. 

2 1  do  not  exactly  know  the  Scottish  mode  of  encampment  in 
1513,  but  Patten  gives  a  curious  description  of  that  which  he 
saw  after  the  battle  of  Pinkey,  in  1547  :  "  Here  now,  to  say 
somewhat  of  the  manner  of  their  camp  :  As  they  had  no  pavil- 
ions, or  round  houses,  of  any  commendable  compass,  so  wear 
there  few  other  tentes  with  posts,  as  the  used  manner  of  making 
is  ;  and  of  these  few  also,  none  of  above  twenty  foot  length,  but 
most  far  under ;  for  the  most  part  all  very  sumptuously  beset 
(after  their  fashion),  for  the  love  of  France,  with  fleur-de-lys, 
some  of  blue  buckeram,  some  of  black,  and  some  of  some  other 
colours.  These  white  ridges,  as  I  call  them,  that,  as  we  stood 
on  Fauxsyde  Bray,  did  make  so  great  muster  toward  us,  which 
I  did  take  then  to  be  a  number  of  tentes,  when  we  came,  we 
found  it  a  linen  drapery,  of  the  coarser  cambryk  in  dede, 
for  it  was  all  of  canvas  sheets,  and  wear  the  tenticles,  or 
rather  cabyns  and  couches  of  their  soldiers  ;  the  which  (much 
after  the  common  building  of  their  country  beside)  had  they 
framed  of  four  sticks,  about  an  ell  long  a  piece,  whearof  two 
fastened  together  at  one  end  aloft,  and  the  two  endes  beneath 
stuck  in  the  ground,  an  ell  asunder,  standing  in  fashion  like 
the  bowes  of  a  sowes  yoke ;  over  two  such  bowes  (one,  as  it 
were,  at  their  head,  the  other  at  their  feet),  they  stretched  a 
sheet  down  on  both  sides,  whereby  their  cabin  became  roofed 
like  a  ridge,  but  skant  shut  at  both  ends,  and  not  very  close 
beneath  on  the  sides,  unless  their  sticks  were  the  shorter,  or 
their  wives  the  more  liberal  to  lend  them  larger  napery  ;  how- 
beit,  when  they  had  lined  them,  and  stuff' d  them  so  thick  with 
straw,  with  the  weather  as  it  was  not  very  cold,  when  they 
wear  ones  couched,  they  were  as  warm  as  they  had  been  wrapt 
in  horses'  dung."  — Patten's  Account  of  Somerset's  Expedition. 


174  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

Highest,  and  midmost,  was  descried 
The  royal  banner  floating  wide ; 

The  staff,  a  pine-tree,  strong  and  straight,1 
Pitch'd  deeply  in  a  massive  stone, 
Which  still  in  memory  is  shown, 

Yet  bent  beneath  the  standard's  weight 
Whene'er  the  western  wind  unroll'd, 

With  toil,  the  huge  and  cumbrous  fold, 
And  gave  to  view  the  dazzling  field, 
Where,  in  proud  Scotland's  royal  shield, 

The  ruddy  lion  ramp'd  in  gold.2 

XXIX. 

Lord  Marmion  view'd  the  landscape  bright,  —  3 
He  view'd  it  with  a  chiefs  delight,  — 


1  MS.  —  "  The  standard  staff,  a  mountain  pine, 

Pitch'd  in  a  huge  memorial  stone, 
That  still  in  monument  is  shown." 

2  The  well-known  arms  of  Scotland.     If  you  will  believe 
Boethius  and  Buchanan,  the  double  tressure  round  the  shield, 
mentioned,  p.  199,  counter  fleur-de-lysed,  or  lingued  and  armed 
azure,  was  first  assumed  by  Achaius,  King  of  Scotland,  con- 
temporary  of  Charlemagne,  and  founder  of   the  celebrated 
League  with  France  ;  but  later  antiquaries  make  poor  Eochy, 
or  Achy,  little  better  than  a  sort  of  King  of  Brentford,  whom 
old  Grig  (who  has  also  swelled  into  Gregorius  Magnus)  asso- 
ciated with  himself  in  the  important  duty  of  governing  some 
part  of  the  northeastern  coast  of  Scotland. 

8 MS.  —  "Lord  Marmion's  large  dark  eye  flash'd  light, 
It  kindled  with  a  chief's  delight, 
For  glow'd  with  martial  joy  his  heart, 
As  upon  battle-day." 


Canto  IV.  THE    CAMP.  175 

Until  within  him  burn'd  his  heart, 
And  lightning  from  his  eye  did  part, 

As  on  the  battle-day ; 
Such  glance  did  falcon  never  dart, 

When  stooping  on  his  prey. 
"  Oh !  well,  Lord-Lion,  hast  thou  said, 
Thy  King  from  warfare  to  dissuade 

Were  but  a  vain  essay : 
For,  by  St.  George,  were  that  host  mine, 
Not  power  infernal,  nor  divine, 
Should  once  to  peace  my  soul  incline, 
Till  I  had  dimm'd  their  armour's  shine 

In  glorious  battle-fray  ! " 
Answer'd  the  Bard,  of  milder  mood : 
"  Fair  is  the  sight,  —  and  yet  'twere  good, 

That  Kings  would  think  withal, 
When  peace  and  wealth  their  land  has  bless'd, 
'Tis  better  to  sit  still  at  rest,1 
Than  rise,  perchance  to  fall" 

XXX. 

Still  on  the  spot  Lord  Marmion  stay'd, 
For  fairer  scene  he  ne'er  survey'd. 

1  MS.  —  "  'Tis  better  sitting  still  at  rest, 
Than  rising  but  to  fall ; 
And  while  these  words  they  did  exchange, 
They  reached  the  camp's  extremest  range. " 

The  Poet  appears  to  have  struck  his  pen  through  the  two 
lines  in  italics,  on  conceiving  the  magnificent  picture  which 
replaces  them  in  the  text,  and  in  which  there  is  so  little  of 
erasure,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  fac-simile  which  faces  this  page. 


176  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

When  sated  with  the  martial  show 

That  peopled  all  the  plain  below, 

The  wandering  eye  could  o'er  it  go, 

And  mark  the  distant  city  glow 
With  gloomy  splendour  red ; 

For  on  the  smoke- wreaths,  huge  and  slow, 

That  round  her  sable  turrets  flow, 
The  morning  beams  were  shed, 

And  tinged  them  with  a  lustre  proud, 

Like  that  which  streaks  a  thunder-cloud. 
Such  dusky  grandeur  clothed  the  height, 
Where  the  huge  Castle  holds  its  state, 

And  all  the  steep  slope  down, 
Whose  ridgy  back  heaves  to  the  sky, 
Piled  deep  and  massy,  close  and  high, 

Mine  own  romantic  town ! l 
But  northward  far,  with  purer  blaze, 
On  Ochil  mountains  fell  the  rays, 
And  as  each  heathy  top  they  kiss'd, 
It  gleam'd  a  purple  amethyst. 
Yonder  the  shores  of  Fife  you  saw ; 
Here  Preston-Bay,  and  Berwick-Law ; 
And,  broad  between  them  roll'd, 
The  gallant  Frith  the  eye  might  note, 
Whose  islands  on  its  bosom  float, 

Like  emeralds  chased  in  gold. 
Fitz-Eustace'  heart  felt  closely  pent ; 
As  if  to  give  his  rapture  vent, 
The  spur  he  to  his  charger  lent, 

1  MS.  —  "  Dun-Edin's  towers  and  town." 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  177 

And  raised  his  bridle  hand, 
And,  making  demi-volte  in  air, 
Cried,  "  Where's  the  coward  that  would  not  dare 

To  fight  for  such  a  land ! " 
The  Lindesay  smiled  his  joy  to  see ; J 
Nor  Marmion's  frown  repress'd  his  glee. 

XXXI. 

Thus  while  they  lootd,  a  flourish  proud, 
Where  mingled  trump,  and  clarion  loud, 

And  fife  and  kettle-drum, 
And  sackbut  deep,  and  psaltery, 
And  war-pipe  with  discordant  cry, 
And  cymbal  clattering  to  the  sky, 
Making  wild  music  bold  and  high, 

Did  up  the  mountain  come ; 
The  whilst  the  bells,  with  distant  chime, 
Merrily  toll'd  the  hour  of  prime, 

And  thus  the  Lindesay  spoke : 2 
"  Thus  clamour  still  the  war-notes  when 
The  King  to  mass  his  way  has  ta'en, 
Or  to  St.  Katharine's  of  Sienne,3 

Or  Chapel  of  Saint  Rocque. 
To  you  they  speak  of  martial  fame ;  * 
But  me  remind  of  peaceful  game, 

1  MS.  —  "  The  Lion  smiled  his  joy  to  see." 

2  MS.  —  "And  thus  the  Lion  spoke." 

8  MS.  —  "  Or  to  our  Lady's  of  Sienne." 

*  MS.  —  "To  you  they  speak  of  martial  fame, 

To  me  of  mood  more  mild  and  tame  — 

Blither  would  be  their  cheer." 

12 


1 78  MARMION.  Canto  IV. 

When  blither  was  their  cheer, 
Thrilling  in  Falkland-woods  the  air, 
In  signal  none  his  steed  should  spare, 
But  strive  which  foremost  might  repair 

To  the  downfall  of  the  deer. 

XXXII. 

*'  Nor  less,"  he  said,  —  "  when  looking  forth, 
I  view  yon  Empress  of  the  North 

Sit  on  her  hilly  throne ; 
Her  palace's  imperial  bowers, 
Her  castle,  proof  to  hostile  powers, 
Her  stately  halls  and  holy  towers  — l 

Nor  less,"  he  said,  "  I  moan, 
To  think  what  woe  mischance  may  bring, 
And  how  these  merry  bells  may  ring 
The  death-dirge  of  our  gallant  King ; 

Or  with  the  larum  call 
The  burghers  forth  to  watch  and  ward, 
'Gainst  southern  sack  and  fires  to  guard 

Dun-Edin's  leaguer'd  wall. — 
But  not  for  my  presaging  thought, 
Dream  conquest  sure,  or  cheaply  bought ! 2 

Lord  Marmion,  I  say  nay : 
God  is  the  guider  of  the  field, 
He  breaks  the  champion's  spear  and  shield,  — 

But  thou  thyself  shalt  say, 
When  joins  yon  host  in  deadly  stowre, 

1  MS.  —  "  Her  stately  fanes  and  holy  towers." 

2  MS.  —  "  Dream  of  a  conquest  cheaply  bought." 


Canto  IV.  THE   CAMP.  179 

That  England's  dames  must  weep  in  bower, 

Her  monks  the  death-mass  sing ; J 
For  never  saw'st  thou  such  a  power 

Led  on  by  such  a  King."  — 
And  now,  down  winding  to  the  plain, 
The  barriers  of  the  camp  they  gain, 

And  there  they  made  a  stay.  — 
There  stays  the  Minstrel,  till  he  fling 
His  hand  o'er  every  Border  string, 
And  fit  his  harp  the  pomp  to  sing, 
Of  Scotland's  ancient  Court  and  King, 

In  the  succeeding  lay. 

1  M8.  —  "  Their  monks  dead  masses  sing." 


INTRODUCTION  TO   CANTO  FIFTH.1 


To  George  Ellis,  Esq? 

Edinburgh. 

WHEN  dark  December  glooms  the  day, 
And  takes  our  autumn  joys  away 
When  short  and  scant  the  sunbeam  throws, 
Upon  the  weary  waste  of  snows, 
A  cold  and  profitless  regard, 
like  patron  on  a  needy  bard ; 
When  silvan  occupation's  done, 
And  o'er  the  chimney  rests  the  gun, 

1  These   Introductory  Epistles,  though  excellent  in  them- 
selves, are  in  fact  only  interruptions  to  the  fable,  and,  accord- 
ingly, nine  readers  out  of  ten  have  perused  them  separately, 
either  before  or  after  the  poem.    In  short,  the  personal  appear- 
ance of  the  Minstrel,  who,  though  the  Last,  is  the  most  charming 
of  all  minstrels,  is  by  no  means  compensated  by  the  idea  of  an 
author  shorn  of  his  picturesque  beard,  and  writing  letters  to  his 
intimate  friends.  —  George  Ellis. 

2  This  accomplished  gentleman,  the  well-known  coadjutor 
of  Mr.  Canning  and  Mr.  Frere  in  the  Antijacobin,  and  editor 
of  Specimens  of  Ancient  English  Romances,  etc.,  died  10th 
April,  1815,  aged  76  years ;  being  succeeded  in  his  estates  by 
his  brother,  Charles  Ellis,  Esq.,  created,  in  1827,  Lord  Seaford. 
—  ED. 

181 


1 82  MARMION. 

And  hang,  in  idle  trophy,  near, 

The  game-pouch,  fishing-rod,  and  spear; 

When  wiry  terrier,  rough  and  grim, 

And  greyhound,  with  his  length  of  limb, 

And  pointer,  now  employ'd  no  more, 

Cumber  our  parlour's  narrow  floor ; 

When  in  his  stall  the  impatient  steed 

Is  long  condemn'd  to  rest  and  feed ; 

When  from  our  snow-encircled  home, 

Scarce  cares  the  hardiest  step  to  roam, 

Since  path  is  none,  save  that  to  bring 

The  needful  water  from  the  spring ; 

When  wrinkled  news-page,  thrice  conn'd  o'er, 

Beguiles  the  dreary  hour  no  more, 

And  darkling  politician,  cross'd, 

Inveighs  against  the  lingering  post, 

And  answering  housewife  sore  complains 

Of  carriers'  snow-impeded  wains ; 

When  such  the  country  cheer,  I  come, 

Well  pleased,  to  seek  our  city  home ; 

For  converse,  and  for  books,  to  change 

The  Forest's  melancholy  range, 

And  welcome,  with  renew'd  delight, 

The  busy  day  and  social  night. 

Not  here  need  my  desponding  rhyme 
Lament  the  ravages  of  time, 
As  erst  by  Newark's  riven  towers, 
And  Ettrick  stripp'd  of  forest  bowers.1 

1  See  Introduction  to  canto  ii. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FIFTH.        183 

True,  —  Caledonia's  Queen  is  changed,1 
Since  on  her  dusky  summit  ranged, 
Within  its  steepy  limits  pent, 
By  bulwark,  line,  and  battlement, 
And  flanking  towers,  and  laky  flood, 
Guarded  and  garrison'd  she  stood, 
Denying  entrance  or  resort, 
Save  at  each  tall  embattled  port ; 
Above  whose  arch,  suspended,  hung 
Portcullis  spiked  with  iron  prong. 
That  long  is  gone,  —  but  not  so  long, 
Since,  early  closed,  and  opening  late, 
Jealous  revolved  the  studded  gate, 
"Whose  task,  from  eve  to  morning  tide, 
A  wicket  churlishly  supplied. 
Stern  then,  and  steel-girt  was  thy  brow, 
Dun-Edin !  O,  how  altered  now, 
When  safe  amid  thy  mountain  court 
Thou  sit'st,  like  Empress  at  her  sport, 
And  liberal,  unconfined,  and  free, 
Flinging  thy  white  arms  to  the  sea,2 


1  The  Old  Town  of  Edinburgh  was  secured  on  the  north  side 
by  a  lake,  now  drained,  and  on  the  south  by  a  wall,  which 
there  was  some  attempt  to  make  defensible  even  so  late  as 
1745.     The  gates,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  wall,  have  been, 
pulled  down,  in  the  course  of  the  late  extensive  and  beautiful 
enlargement  of  the  city.     My  ingenious  and  valued  friend,  Mr. 
Thomas  Campbell,  proposed  to  celebrate  Edinburgh  under  the- 
epithet  here  borrowed.     But  the  Queen  of  the  North  has  not 
been  so  fortunate  as  to  receive  from  so  eminent  a  pen  the 
proposed  distinction. 

2  Since  writing  this  line,  I  find  I  have  inadvertently  bor- 


1 84  MARMION. 

For  thy  dark  cloud,  with  umber'd  lower, 
That  hung  o'er  cliff,  and  lake,  and  tower, 
Thou  gleam'st  against  the  western  ray 
Ten  thousand  lines  of  brighter  day. 

Not  she,  the  Championess  of  old, 
In  Spenser's  magic  tale  enroll'd, 
She  for  the  charmed  spear  renown'd, 
Which  forced  each  knight  to  kiss  the  ground,  — 
Not  she  more  changed,  when,  placed  at  rest, 
What  time  she  was  Malbecco's  guest,1 
She  gave  to  flow  her  maiden  vest ; 
When  from  the  corslet's  grasp  relieved, 
Free  to  the  sight  her  bosom  heaved ; 
Sweet  was  her  blue  eye's  modest  smile, 
Erst  hidden  by  the  aventayle ; 
And  down  her  shoulders  graceful  roll'd 
Her  locks  profuse,  of  paly  gold. 
They  who  whilom,  in  midnight  fight, 
Had  marvell'd  at  her  matchless  might, 
No  less  her  maiden  charms  approved, 
But  looking  liked,  and  liking  loved.2 
The  sight  could  jealous  pangs  beguile, 

rowed  it  almost  verbatim,  though  with  somewhat  a  different 
meaning,  from  a  chorus  in  Caractaeus : 

"Britain  heard  the  descant  bold, 

She  flung  her  white  arms  o'er  the  sea, 
Proud  in  her  leafy  bosom  to  enfold 
The  freight  of  harmony." 

1  See  The  Faerie  Queene,  book  iii.  canto  ix. 

3  "For  every  one  her  liked,  and  every  one  her  loved." 

—  Spenser,  as  above. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FIFTH.        185 

And  charm  Malbecco's  cares  a  while ; 

And  he,  the  wandering  Squire  of  Dames, 

Forgot  his  Columbella's  claims, 

And  passion,  erst  unknown,  could  gain 

The  breast  of  blunt  Sir  Satyrane ; 

Nor  durst  light  Paridel  advance, 

Bold  as  he  was,  a  looser  glance. 

She  charmed,  at  once,  and  tamed  the  heart, 

Incomparable  Britomarte ! 

So  thou,  fair  City !  disarray'd 
Of  battled  wall,  and  rampart's  aid, 
As  stately  seem'st,  but  lovelier  far 
Than  in  that  panoply  of  war. 
Nor  deem  that  from  thy  fenceless  throne 
Strength  and  security  are  flown ; 
Still,  as  of  yore,  Queen  of  the  North ! 
Still  canst  thou  send  thy  children  forth. 
Ne'er  readier  at  alarm-bell's  call 
Thy  burghers  rose  to  man  thy  wall, 
Than  now,  in  danger,  shall  be  thine, 
Thy  dauntless  voluntary  line ; 
For  fosse  and  turret  proud  to  stand, 
Their  breasts  the  bulwarks  of  the  land. 
Thy  thousands,  train'd  to  martial  toil, 
Full  red  would  stain  their  native  soil, 
Ere  from  thy  mural  crown  there  fell 
The  slightest  knosp,  or  pinnacle. 
And  if  it  come,  —  as  come  it  may, 
Dun-Edin  !  that  eventful  day,  — 
Kenown'd  for  hospitable  deed, 


1 86  MARMION. 

That  virtue  much  with  Heaven  may  plead, 
In  patriarchal  times  whose  care 
Descending  angels  deign'd  to  share ; 
That  claim  may  wrestle  blessings  down 
On  those  who  fight  for  The  Good  Town, 
Destined  in  every  age  to  be 
Eefuge  of  injured  royalty ; 
Since  first,  when  conquering  York  arose, 
To  Henry  meek  she  gave  repose,1 

1  Henry  VI.,  with  his  queen,  his  heir,  and  the  chiefs  of  his 
family,  fled  to  Scotland  after  the  fatal  battle  of  Towton.  In 
this  note  a  doubt  was  formerly  expressed,  whether  Henry  VI. 
came  to  Edinburgh,  though  his  queen  certainly  did;  Mr. 
Pinkerton  inclining  to  believe  that  he  remained  at  Kirkcud- 
bright. But  my  noble  friend,  Lord  Napier,  has  pointed  out 
to  me  a  grant  by  Henry,  of  an  annuity  of  forty  marks  to  his 
Lordship's  ancestor,  John  Napier,  subscribed  by  the  king 
himself,  at  Edinburgh,  the  28th  day  of  August,  in  the  thirty- 
ninth  year  of  his  reign,  which  corresponds  to  the  year  of  God, 
1461.  This  grant,  Douglas,  with  his  usual  neglect  of  accuracy, 
dates  in  1368.  But  this  error  being  corrected  from  the  copy 
in  Macfarlane's  MSS.,  p.  119-20,  removes  all  scepticism  on 
the  subject  of  Henry  VI.  being  really  at  Edinburgh.  John 
Napier  was  son  and  heir  of  Sir  Alexander  Napier,  and  about 
this  tune  was  Provost  of  Edinburgh.  The  hospitable  reception 
of  the  distressed  monarch  and  his  family  called  forth  on  Scot- 
land the  encomium  of  Molinet,  a  contemporary  poet.  The 
English  people,  he  says,  — 

"  Ung  nouveau  roy  creerent, 

Par  despiteux  vouloir, 
Le  vieil  en  debouterent, 
Et  son  legitime  hoir, 
Qu.i  fuytyf  alia  prendre 
D'Escosse  le  gar  and, 
De  tons  siecles  le  mendre, 
Et  le  plus  tollerant." 

—  Recollection  des  Avantures. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   FIFTH.        187 

Till  late,  with  wonder,  grief,  and  awe, 
Great  Bourbon's  relics,  sad  she  saw.1 

Truce  to  these  thoughts !  —  for,  as  they  rise, 
How  gladly  I  avert  mine  eyes, 
Bodings,  or  true  or  false,  to  change, 
For  Fiction's  fair,  romantic  range, 
Or  for  Tradition's  dubious  light, 
That  hovers  'twixt  the  day  and  night : 
Dazzling  alternately  and  dim, 
Her  wavering  lamp  I'd  rather  trim, 
Knights,  squires,  and  lovely  dames,  to  see, 
Creation  of  my  fantasy, 
Than  gaze  abroad  on  reeky  fen,2 
And  make  of  mists  invading  men.  — 
Who  loves  not  more  the  night  of  June 
Than  dull  December's  gloomy  noon  ? 
The  moonlight  than  the  fog  of  frost  ? 
And  can  we  say,  which  cheats  the  most  ? 

But  who  shall  teach  my  harp  to  gain 
A  sound  of  the  romantic  strain, 
Whose  Anglo-Norman  tones  whilere 
Could  win  the  royal  Henry's  ear,3 

lln  January,  1796,  the  exiled  Count  d'Artois,  afterward 
Charles  X.  of  France,  took  up  his  residence  in  Holyrood,  where 
he  remained  until  August,  1799.  When  again  driven  from  his 
country  by  the  Revolution  of  July,  1830,  the  same  unfortunate 
prince,  with  all  the  immediate  members  of  his  family,  sought 
refuge  once  more  in  the  ancient  palace  of  the  Stuarts,  and 
remained  there  until  18th  September,  1832. 

2  MS.  —  "  Than  gaze  out  on  the  foggy  fen." 

*  Mr.  Ellis,  in  his  valuable  Introduction  to  the  Specimens  of 


1 88  MAKMION. 

Famed  Beauclerc  call'd,  for  that  he  loved 

The  minstrel,  and  his  lay  approved  ? 

Who  shall  these  lingering  notes  redeem, 

Decaying  on  Obli vion's  stream ; 

Such  notes  as  from  the  Breton  tongue 

Marie  translated,  Blondel  sung  ?  — 

O  !  born,  Time's  ravage  to  repair, 

And  make  the  dying  Muse  thy  care ; 

Who,  when  his  scythe  her  hoary  foe 

Was  poising  for  the  final  blow, 

The  weapon  from  his  hand  could  wring, 

And  break  his  glass,  and  shear  his  wing, 

And  bid,  reviving  in  his  strain, 

The  gentle  poet  live  again ; 

Thou,  who  canst  give  to  lightest  lay 

An  unpedantic  moral  gay, 

Nor  less  the  dullest  theme  bid  flit 

On  wings  of  unexpected  wit ; 

In  letters  as  in  life  approved, 

Example  honour'd,  and  beloved, — 

Dear  Ellis !  to  the  bard  impart 

A  lesson  of  thy  magic  art, 

To  win  at  once  the  head  and  heart,  — 

Romance,  has  proved,  by  the  concurring  testimony  of  La 
Ravaillere,  Tressan,  but  especially  the  Abbe"  de  la  Rue,  that 
the  courts  of  our  Anglo-Norman  kings,  rather  than  those  of  the 
French  monarch,  produced  the  birth  of  romance  literature. 
Marie,  soon  after  mentioned,  compiled  from  Armorican  origi- 
nals, and  translated  into  Norman-French,  or  romance  language, 
the  twelve  curious  lays,  of  which  Mr.  Ellis  has  given  us  a  precis 
in  the  Appendix  to  his  Introduction.  The  story  of  Blondel, 
the  famous  and  faithful  minstrel  of  Richard  I.,  needs  no 
commentary. 


INTRODUCTION   TO  CANTO  FIFTH.        189 

At  once  to  charm,  instruct,  and  mend, 
My  guide,  my  pattern,  and  my  Mend ! l 

Such  minstrel  lesson  to  bestow 
Be  long  thy  pleasing  task,  —  but,  O ! 
No  more  by  thy  example  teach, 
—  What  few  can  practise,  all  can  preach,  — 
With  even  patience  to  endure 
Lingering  disease,  and  painful  cure, 
And  boast  affliction's  pangs  subdued 
By  mild  and  manly  fortitude. 
Enough,  the  lesson  has  been  given : 
Forbid  the  repetition,  Heaven ! 

Come  listen,  then !  for  thou  hast  known, 
And  loved  the  Minstrel's  varying  tone, 
Who,  like  his  Border  sires  of  old, 
Waked  a  wild  measure  rude  and  bold, 
Till  Windsor's  oaks,  and  Ascot  plain, 
With  wonder  heard  the  northern  strain.2 
Ceme  listen !  bold  in  thy  applause, 
The  Bard  shall  scorn  pedantic  laws ; 
And,  as  the  ancient  art  could  stain 
Achievements  on  the  storied  pane, 
Irregularly  traced  and  plann'd, 
But  yet  so  glowing  and  so  grand,  — 

1 "  Come  then,  my  friend,  my  genius,  come  along, 
Oh  master  of  the  poet  and  the  song  1 " 

—  Pope  to  Bolingbroke. 

*  At  Sunning-hill,  Mr.  Ellis's  seat,  near  Windsor,  part  of 
the  first  two  cantos  of  Marmion  were  written. 


190  MARMION. 

So  shall  he  strive,  in  changeful  hue, 
Field,  feast,  and  combat,  to  renew, 
And  loves,  and  arms,  and  harpers'  glee, 
And  all  the  pomp  of  chivalry. 


MARMION. 

CANTO  FIFTH. 


THE   COURT. 


THE  train  has  left  the  hills  of  Braid ; 
The  barrier  guard  have  open  made 
(So  Lindesay  bade)  the  palisade, 

That  closed  the  tented  ground ; 
Their  men  the  warders  backward  drew, 
And  carried  pikes  as  they  rode  through, 

Into  its  ample  bound.1 
Fast  ran  the  Scottish  warriors  there, 
Upon  the  Southern  band  to  stare. 
And  envy  with  their  wonder  rose, 
To  see  such  well-appointed  foes ; 
Such  length  of  shafts,  such  mighty  bows,1 

1MS.  —  "  The  barrier  guard  the  Lion  knew, 

Advanced  their  pikes,  and  soon  withdrew 
The  slender  palisades  and  few 

That  closed  the  tented  ground  ; 
And  Marmion  with  his  train  rode  through, 
Across  its  ample  bound." 

.  —  "So  long  their  shafts,  so  large  their  bows." 
191 


192  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

So  huge,  that  many  simply  thought, 
But  for  a  vaunt  such  weapons  wrought ; 
And  little  deem'd  their  force  to  feel, 
Through  links  of  mail,  and  plates  of  steel, 
When  rattling  upon  Flodden  vale, 
The  cloth-yard  arrows  flew  like  hail1 

II. 

Nor  less  did  Marmion's  skilful  view 
Glance  every  line  and  squadron  through  ; 
And  much  he  marvelTd  one  small  land 
Could  marshal  forth  such  various  band : 

For  men-at-arms  were  here, 
Heavily  sheathed  in  mail  and  plate, 
Like  iron  towers  for  strength  and  weight, 
On  Flemish  steeds  of  bone  and  height, 

With  battle-axe  and  spear. 
Young  knights  and  squires,  a  lighter  train, 
Practised  their  chargers  on  the  plain,2 
By  aid  of  leg,  of  hand,  and  rein, 

Each  warlike  feat  to  show, 

1  This  is  no  poetical  exaggeration.  In  some  of  the  counties 
of  England,  distinguished  for  archery,  shafts  of  this  extraor- 
dinary length  were  actually  used.  Thus,  at  the  battle  of 
Blackheath,  between  the  troops  of  Henry  VII.,  and  the  Corn- 
ish insurgents,  in  1496,  the  bridge  of  Dartford  was  defended 
by  a  picked  band  of  archers  from  the  rebel  army,  "whose 
arrows,"  says  Holinshed,  "  were  in  length  a  full  cloth  yard." 
The  Scottish,  according  to  Ascham,  had  a  proverb,  that  every 
English  archer  carried  under  his  belt  twenty-four  Scots,  in 
allusion  to  his  bundle  of  unerring  shafts. 
2  MS.  —  "  There  urged  their  chargers  on  the  plain." 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  193 

To  pass,  to  wheel,  the  croupe  to  gain, 
And  high  curvett,  that  not  in  vain 
The  sword  sway  might  descend  amain 

On  foeman's  casque  below.1 
He  saw  the  hardy  burghers  there 
March  arm'd,  on  foot,  with  faces  bare,2 

For  vizor  they  wore  none, 
Nor  waving  plume,  nor  crest  of  knight ; 
But  burnish'd  were  their  corslets  bright, 
Their  brigantines,  and  gorgets  light, 

Like  very  silver  shone. 
Long  pikes  they  had  for  standing  fight, 

Two-handed  swords  they  wore, 

1  The  most  useful  air,  as  the  Frenchmen  term  it,  is  terri- 
terr ;  the  courbettes,  cdbrioles,  or  un  pas  et  un  sault,  being 
fitter  for  horses  of  parade  and  triumph  than  for  soldiers  :  yet  I 
cannot  deny  but  a  demivolte  with  courbettes,  so  that  they  be 
not  too  high,  may  be  useful  in  a  fight  or  meslee;  for,  as 
Labroue  hath  it,  in  his  Book  of  Horsemanship,  Monsieur  de 
Montmorency  having  a  horse  that  was  excellent  in  performing 
the  demivolte,  did,  with  his  sword,  strike  down  two  adver- 
saries from  their  horses  in  a  tourney,  where  divers  of  the 
prime  gallants  of  France  did  meet  ;  for,  taking  his  tune,  when 
the  horse  was  in  the  height  of  his  courbette,  and  discharging  a 
blow  then,  his  sword  fell  with  such  weight  and  force  upon  the 
two  cavaliers,  one  after  another,  that  he  struck  them  from 
their  horses  to  the   ground.  —  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury's 
Life,  p.  48. 

2  The  Scottish  burgesses  were,  like  yeomen,  appointed  to  be 
armed  with  bows  and  sheaves,  sword,  buckler,  knife,  spear,  or 
a  good  axe  instead  of  a  bow,  if  worth  £100  :  their  armour  to 
be  of  white  or  bright  harness.   They  wore  white  fiats,  i.e.  bright 
steel  caps,  without  crest  or  visor.     By  an  act  of  James  IV., 
their  weapon-schawings  are  appointed  to  be  held  four  times 
a  year,  under  the  aldermen  or  bailiffs. 

13 


194  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

And  many  wielded  mace  of  weight,1 
And  bucklers  bright  they  bore. 

III. 

On  foot  the  yeoman  too,  but  dress'd 
In  his  steel-jack,  a  swarthy  vest, 

With  iron  quilted  well  ; 
Each  at  his  back  (a  slender  store) 
His  forty  days'  provision  bore, 

As  feudal  statutes  telL 
His  arms  were  halbert,  axe,  or  spear,2 
A  crossbow  there,  a  hagbut  here, 

A  dagger-knife,  and  brand. 
Sober  he  seem'd,  and  sad  of  cheer, 


1  MS.  —  "  And  malls  did  many  j  ^^  I  of  weight." 

2  Bows  and  quivers  were  in  vain  recommended  to  the  peas- 
antry of  Scotland,  by  repeated  statutes  ;  spears  and  axes  seem 
universally  to  have  been  used  instead  of  them.     Their  defen- 
sive armour  was  the  plate-jack,  hauberk,  or  brigantine  ;  and 
their  missile  weapons,  crossbows   and  culverins.     All  wore 
swords  of  excellent  temper,  according  to  Patten  ;  and  a  volu- 
minous handkerchief  round  their  neck,  "not  for  cold,  but  for 
cutting."    The  mace  also  was  much  used  in  the  Scottish  army. 
The  old  poem  on  the  battle  of  Flodden  mentions  a  band  — 

"  Who  manfully  did  meet  then-  foes, 
With  leaden  mauls,  and  lances  long." 

When  the  feudal  array  of  the  kingdom  was  called  forth, 
each  man  was  obliged  to  appear  with  forty  days'  provision. 
When  this  was  expended,  which  took  place  before  the  battle  of 
Flodden,  the  army  melted  away  of  course.  Almost  all  the 
Scottish  forces,  except  a  few  knights,  men-at-arms,  and  the 
Border-prickers,  who  formed  excellent  light  cavalry,  acted 
upon  foot. 


Canto  V.  THE    COURT.  195 

As  loath  to  leave  his  cottage  dear, 

And  march  to  foreign  strand ; 

Or  musing,  who  would  guide  his  steer, 

To  till  the  faUow  land. 
Yet  deem  not  in  his  thoughtful  eye 
Did  aught  of  dastard  terror  lie ; 

More  dreadful  far  his  ire, 
Than  theirs,  who,  scorning  danger's  name, 
In  eager  mood  to  battle  came, 
Their  valour  like  light  straw  on  flame, 

A  fierce  but  fading  fire. 

IV. 

Not  so  the  Borderer :  —  bred  to  war, 
He  knew  the  battle's  din  afar, 

And  joy'd  to  hear  it  swelL 
His  peaceful  day  was  slothful  ease ; 
Nor  harp,  nor  pipe,  his  ear  could  please, 

like  the  loud  slogan  yelL 
On  active  steed,  with  lance  and  blade, 
The  light-arm'd  pricker  plied  his  trade, — 

Let  nobles  fight  for  fame ; 
Let  vassals  follow  where  they  lead, 
Burghers,  to  guard  their  townships,  bleed, 

But  war's  the  Borderer's  game. 
Their  gain,  their  glory,  their  delight, 
To  sleep  the  day,  maraud  the  night, 

O'er  mountain,  moss,  and  moor; 
Joyful  to  fight  they  took  their  way, 
Scarce  caring  who  might  win  the  day, 

Their  booty  was  secure. 


1 96  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

These,  as  Lord  Marmion's  train  pass'd  by, 
Look'd  on  at  first  with  careless  eye, 
Nor  marvell'd  aught,  well  taught  to  know 
The  form  and  force  of  English  bow. 
But  when  they  saw  the  Lord  array'd 
In  splendid  arms,  and  rich  brocade, 
Each  Borderer  to  his  kinsman  said,  — 
"  Hist,  Eingan  !  seest  thou  there  ! 
Canst  guess  which  road  they'll  homeward  ride  ?  — 
0 !  could  we  but  on  Border  side, 
By  Eusedale  glen,  or  Liddell's  tide, 

Beset  a  prize  so  fair ! 
That  fangless  Lion,  too,  their  guide, 
Might  chance  to  lose  his  glistering  hide ; l 
Brown  Maudlin,  of  that  doublet  pied, 

Could  make  a  kirtle  rare." 

V. 

Next,  Marmion  mark'd  the  Celtic  race, 
Of  different  language,  form,  and  face, 

A  various  race  of  man ; 
Just  then  the  Chiefs  their  tribes  array'd, 
And  wild  and  garish  semblance  made, 
The  chequer'd  trews,  and  belted  plaid, 

1  MS. — "  Hist,  Kingan  !  seest  thou  there  ! 

Canst  guess  what  homeward  road  they  take  — 
By  Eusedale  glen,  or  Yetholm  lake  ? 
O  !  could  we  but  by  bush  or  brake 

Beset  a  prize  so  fair  ! 
The  fangless  Lion,  too,  his  guide, 
Might  chance  to  lose  his  glittering  hide." 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  197 

And  varying  notes  the  war-pipes  bray'd, 

To  every  varying  clan ; 
Wild  through  their  red  or  sable  hair 
Look'd  out  their  eyes  with  savage  stare,1 

On  Marmion  as  he  pass'd ; 
Their  legs  above  the  knee  were  bare ; 
Their  frame  was  sinewy,  short,  and  spare, 

And  harden'd  to  the  blast ; 
Of  taller  race,  the  chiefs  they  own 
Were  by  the  eagle's  plumage  known. 
The  hunted  red-deer's  undress'd  hide 
Their  hairy  buskins  well  supplied ; 
The  graceful  bonnet  deck'd  their  head : 
Back  from  their  shoulders  hung  the  plaid ; 
A  broadsword  of  unwieldy  length, 
A  dagger  proved  for  edge  and  strength, 

A  studded  targe  they  wore, 
And  quivers,  bows,  and  shafts,  —  but,  O ! 
Short  was  the  shaft,  and  weak  the  bow, 

To  that  which  England  bore. 
The  Isles-men  carried  at  their  backs 
The  ancient  Danish  battle-axe. 
They  raised  a  wild  and  wondering  cry, 
As  with  his  guide  rode  Marmion  by. 
Loud  were  their  clamouring  tongues,  as  when 
The  clanging  sea-fowl  leave  the  fen, 
And,  with  their  cries  discordant  mix'd, 
Grumbled  and  yell'd  the  pipes  betwixt. 


. — "  Wild /row  their  red  and  swarthy  hair 

Look'd  through  their  eyes  with  savage  stare." 


198  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

VI. 

Thus  through  the  Scottish  camp  they  pass'd, 

And  reach'd  the  City  gate  at  last, 

Where  all  around,  a  wakeful  guard, 

Arm'd  burghers  kept  their  watch  and  ward. 

Well  had  they  cause  of  jealous  fear, 

When  lay  encamp'd,  in  field  so  near, 

The  Borderer  and  the  Mountaineer. 

As  through  the  bustling  streets  they  go, 

All  was  alive  with  martial  show: 

At  every  turn,  with  dinning  clang, 

The  armourer's  anvil  clash'd  and  rang ; 

Or  toil'd  the  swarthy  smith,  to  wheel 

The  bar  that  arms  the  charger's  heel ; 

Or  axe,  or  falchion,  to  the  side 

Of  jarring  grindstone  was  applied. 

Page,  groom,  and  squire,  with  hurrying  pace, 

Through  street,  and  lane,  and  market-place, 

Bore  lance,  or  casque,  or  sword ; 
While  burghers,  with  important  face, 

Described  each  new-come  lord, 
Discuss'd  his  lineage,  told  his  name, 
His  following,1  and  his  warlike  fame. 
The  Lion  led  to  lodging  meet, 
Which  high  o'erlook'd  the  crowded  street ; 

There  must  the  Baron  rest, 
Till  past  the  hour  of  vesper  tide, 

1  Following  —  Feudal'  retainers.  —  This  word,  by  the  way, 
has  been,  since  the  Author  of  Marmion  used  it,  and  thought  it 
called  for  explanation,  completely  adopted  into  English,  and 
especially  into  Parliamentary  parlance.  —  ED. 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  199 

And  then  to  Holy-Kood  must  ride, — 

Such  was  the  King's  behest. 
Meanwhile  the  Lion's  care  assigns 
A  banquet  rich,  and  costly  wines, 

To  Marmion  and  his  train ; 1 
And  when  the  appointed  hour  succeeds, 
The  Baron  dons  his  peaceful  weeds, 
And  following  Lindesay  as  he  leads, 

The  palace-halls  they  gain. 

VII. 

Old  Holy-Eood  rung  merrily, 
That  night,  with  wassell,  mirth,  and  glee : 
King  James  within  her  princely  bower 
Feasted  the  Chiefs  of  Scotland's  power, 
Summon'd  to  spend  the  parting  hour ; 
For  he  had  charged,  that  his  array 
Should  southward  march  by  break  of  day. 
Well  loved  that  splendid  monarch  aye 

The  banquet  and  the  song, 
By  day  the  tourney,  and  by  night 
The  merry  dance,  traced  fast  and  light, 

1  In  all  transactions  of  great  or  petty  importance,  and 
among  whomsoever  taking  place,  it  would  seem  that  a  present 
of  wine  was  a  uniform  and  indispensable  preliminary.  It  was 
not  to  Sir  John  Falstaff  alone  that  such  an  introductory  pref- 
ace was  necessary,  however  well  judged  and  acceptable  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Brook  ;  for  Sir  Ralph  Sadler,  while  on  an  embassy 
to  Scotland  in  1539-40,  mentions,  with  complacency,  "the 
same  night  came  Rothesay  (the  herald  so  called)  to  me  again, 
and  brought  me  wine  from  the  king,  both  white  and  red."  — 
Clifford's  Edition,  p.  39. 


200  MARMION.  Canto  F. 

The  maskers  quaint,  the  pageant  bright, 

The  revel  loud  and  long. 
This  feast  outshone  his  banquets  past ; 
It  was  his  blithest,  —  and  his  last. 
The  dazzling  lamps,  from  gallery  gay, 
Cast  on  the  Court  a  dancing  ray ; 
Here  to  the  harp  did  minstrels  sing ; 
There  ladies  touched  a  softer  string ; 
"With  long-ear'd  cap,  and  motley  vest, 
The  licensed  fool  retail'd  his  jest ; 
His  magic  tricks  the  juggler  plied ; 
At  dice  and  draughts  the  gallants  vied ; 
While  some,  in  close  recess  apart, 
Courted  the  ladies  of  their  heart, 

Nor  courted  them  in  vain ; 
For  often,  in  the  parting  hour, 
Victorious  Love  asserts  his  power 

O'er  coldness  and  disdain ; 
And  flinty  is  her  heart,  can  view 
To  battle  march  a  lover  true  — 
Can  hear,  perchance,  his  last  adieu, 

Nor  own  her  share  of  pain. 

VIII. 

Through  this  mix'd  crowd  of  glee  and  game. 
The  King  to  greet  Lord  Marmion  came, 

While,  reverent,  all  made  room. 
An  easy  task  it  was,  I  trow, 
King  James's  manly  form  to  know, 
Although,  his  courtesy  to  show, 
He  doffd,  to  Marmion  bending  low, 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  201 

His  broider'd  cap  and  plume. 
For  royal  was  his  garb  and  mien, 

His  cloak,  of  crimson  velvet  piled, 

Trimm'd  with  the  fur  of  martin  wild ; 
His  vest  of  changeful  satin  sheen, 

The  dazzled  eye  beguiled ; 
His  gorgeous  collar  hung  adown, 
Wrought  with  the  badge  of  Scotland's  crown,1 
The  thistle  brave,  of  old  renown : 
His  trusty  blade,  Toledo  right,2 
Descended  from  a  baldric  bright ; 
White  were  his  buskins,  on  the  heel 
His  spurs  inlaid  of  gold  and  steel; 
His  bonnet,  all  of  crimson  fair, 
Was  button'd  with  a  ruby  rare : 
And  Marmion  deem'd  he  ne'er  had  seen 
A  prince  of  such  a  noble  mien. 

IX. 

The  Monarch's  form  was  middle  size ; 
For  feat  of  strength,  or  exercise, 

Shaped  in  proportion  fair ; 
And  hazel  was  his  eagle  eye, 
And  auburn  of  the  darkest  dye, 

1  MS.  —  "  Bearing  the  badge  of  Scotland's  crown." 

3  MS.  —  "  His  trusty  blade,  Toledo  right, 

Descended  from  a  baldric  bright, 

And  dangled  at  his  knee  : 
White  were  his  buskins  ;  from  their  heel 

His  spurs  inlaid    )  . 

}•  of  gold  and  steel 
His  fretted  spurs  ) 

Were  jingling  merrily." 


202  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

His  short  curl'd  beard  and  hair. 
Light  was  his  footstep  in  the  dance, 

And  firm  his  stirrup  in  the  lists ; 
And,  oh !  he  had  that  merry  glance, 

That  seldom  lady's  heart  resists. 
Lightly  from  fair  to  fair  he  flew, 
And  loved  to  plead,  lament,  and  sue ; 
Suit  lightly  won,  and  short-lived  pain, 
For  monarchs  seldom  sigh  in  vain. 

I  said  he  joy'd  in  banquet  bower ; 
But,  'mid  his  mirth,  'twas  often  strange, 
How  suddenly  his  cheer  would  change, 

His  look  o'ercast  and  lower, 
If,  in  a  sudden  turn,  he  felt 
The  pressure  of  his  iron  belt, 
That  bound  his  breast  in  penance  pain, 
In  memory  of  his  father  slain.1 

*Few  readers  need  to  be  reminded  of  this  belt,  to  the 
weight  of  which  James  added  certain  ounces  every  year  that 
he  lived.  Pitscottie  founds  his  belief  that  James  was  not  slain 
in  the  battle  of  Flodden  because  the  English  never  had  this 
token  of  the  iron  belt  to  show  to  any  Scottishman.  The  person 
and  character  of  James  are  delineated  according  to  our  best 
historians.  His  romantic  disposition,  which  led  him  highly  to 
relish  gaiety,  approaching  to  license,  was,  at  the  same  time, 
tinged  with  enthusiastic  devotion.  These  propensities  some- 
times formed  a  strange  contrast.  He  was  wont,  during  his  fits 
of  devotion,  to  assume  the  dress  and  conform  to  the  rules  of 
the  order  of  Franciscans  ;  and  when  he  had  thus  done  penance 
for  some  tune  in  Stirling,  to  plunge  again  into  the  tide  of 
pleasure.  Probably,  too,  with  no  unusual  inconsistency,  he 
sometimes  laughed  at  the  superstitious  observances  to  which 
he  at  other  times  subjected  himself.  There  is  a  very  singular 
poem  by  Dunbar,  seemingly  addressed  to  James  IV.,  on  one 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  203 

Even  so  'twas  strange  how,  evermore, 
Soon  as  the  passing  pang  was  o'er 
Forward  he  rush'd,  with  double  glee, 
Into  the  stream  of  revelry : 
Thus,  dim-seen  object  of  affright 
Startles  the  courser  in  his  flight, 
And  half  he  halts,  half  springs  aside ; 
But  feels  the  quickening  spur  applied, 
And,  straining  on  the  tighten'd  rein, 
Scours  doubly  swift  o'er  hill  and  plain. 

X. 

O'er  James's  heart,  the  courtiers  say, 
Sir  Hugh  the  Heron's  wife  held  sway : l 

of  these  occasions  of  monastic  seclusion.  It  is  a  most  daring 
and  profane  parody  on  the  services  of  the  Church  of  Rome, 
entitled : 

"  Dunbar's  Dirige  to  the  King, 

Byding  ower  lang  in  Striviling. 
We  that  are  here,  in  heaven's  glory, 
To  you  that  are  in  Purgatory, 
Commend  us  on  our  hearty  wise ; 
I  mean  we  folks  in  Paradise, 
In  Edinburgh,  with  all  merriness, 
To  you  in  Stirling,  with  distress, 
Where  neither  pleasure  nor  delight  is, 
For  pity  this  epistle  wrytis,"  etc. 
See  the  whole  in  Sibbald's  Collection,  vol.  i.  p.  234. 

1  It  has  been  already  noticed  (see  note  to  stanza  xiii.  of 
canto  i.)  that  King  James's  acquaintance  with  Lady  Heron 
of  Ford  did  not  commence  until  he  marched  into  England. 
Our  historians  impute  to  the  king's  infatuated  passion  the 
delays  which  led  to  the  fatal  defeat  of  Flodden.  The  author 
of  The  Genealogy  of  the  Heron  Family  endeavours,  with 


204  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

To  Scotland's  Court  she  came, 
To  be  a  hostage  for  her  lord, 
Who  Cessford's  gallant  heart  had  gored, 
And  with  the  King  to  make  accord, 

Had  sent  his  lovely  dame. 
Nor  to  that  lady  free  alone 
Did  the  gay  King  allegiance  own ; 

For  the  fair  Queen  of  France 
Sent  him  a  turquois  ring  and  glove, 
And  charged  him,  as  her  knight  and  love, 

For  her  to  break  a  lance ; 
And  strike  three  strokes  with  Scottish  brand,1 


laudable  anxiety,  to  clear  the  Lady  Ford  from  this  scandal  : 
that  she  came  and  went,  however,  between  the  armies  of  James 
and  Surrey,  is  certain.  See  Pinkerton's  History,  and  the 
authorities  he  refers  to,  vol.  ii.  p.  99.  Heron  of  Ford  had 
been,  in  1511,  in  some  sort  accessory  to  the  slaughter  of  Sir 
Robert  Kerr,  of  Cessford,  Warden  of  the  Middle  Marches.  It 
was  committed  by  his  brother  the  bastard,  Lilburn,  and  Starked, 
three  Borderers.  Lilburn  and  Heron  of  Ford  were  delivered 
up  by  Henry  to  James,  and  were  imprisoned  in  the  fortress  of 
Fastcastle,  where  the  former  died.  Part  of  the  pretence  of 
Lady  Ford's  negotiations  with  James  was  the  liberty  of  her 
husband. 

1  Also  the  Queen  of  France  wrote  a  love-letter  to  the  King 
of  Scotland,  calling  him  her  love,  showing  him  that  she  had 
suffered  much  rebuke  in  France  for  the  defending  of  his 
honour.  She  believed  surely  that  he  would  recompense  her 
again  with  some  of  his  kingly  support  in  her  necessity  ;  that  is 
to  say,  that  he  would  raise  her  an  army,  and  come  three  foot 
of  ground  on  English  ground  for  her  sake.  To  that  effect  she 
sent  him  a  ring  off  her  finger,  with  fourteen  thousand  French 
crowns  to  pay  his  expenses.  — Pitscottie,  p.  110.  A  turquois 
ring ;  probably  this  fatal  gift  is,  with  James's  sword  and  dagger, 
preserved  in  the  College  of  Heralds,  London. 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  205 

And  march,  three  miles  on  Southron  land, 
And  bid  the  banners  of  his  band 

In  English  breezes  dance. 
And  thus  for  France's  Queen  he  drest 
His  manly  limbs  in  mailed  vest ; 
And  thus  admitted  English  fair 
His  inmost  counsels  still  to  share ; 
And  thus,  for  both,  he  madly  plann'd 
The  ruin  of  himself  and  land ! 

And  yet,  the  sooth  to  tell, 
Nor  England's  fair,  nor  France's  Queen,1 
"Were  worth  one  pearl-drop,  bright  and  sheen, 

From  Margaret's  eyes  that  fell,  — 
His  own  Queen  Margaret,  who,  in  Lithgow's  bower, 
All  lonely  sat,  and  wept  the  weary  hour. 

XL 

The  Queen  sits  lone  in  Lithgow  pile, 

And  weeps  the  weary  day, 
The  war  against  her  native  soil, 
Her  Monarch's  risk  in  battle  broil :  — 
And  in  gay  Holy-rood,  the  while, 
Dame  Heron  rises  with  a  smile 

Upon  the  harp  to  play. 
Fair  was  her  rounded  arm,  as  o'er 

The  strings  her  fingers  flew ; 
And  as  she  touch'd  and  tuned  them  all, 

1  MS.  —  "  Nor  France's  Queen,  nor  England's  fair, 
Were  worth  one  pearl-drop,  passing  rare, 
From  Margaret's  eyes  that  fell." 


206  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

Ever  her  bosom's  rise  and  fall 
Was  plainer  given  to  view ; 
For,  all  for  heat,  was  laid  aside 
Her  wimple,  and  her  hood  untied.1 
And  first  she  pitch'd  her  voice  to  sing, 
Then  glanced  her  dark  eye  on  the  King, 
And  then  around  the  silent  ring ; 
And  laugh'd,  and  blush'd,  and  oft  did  say 
Her  pretty  oath,  by  Yea,  and  Nay, 
She  could  not,  would  not,  durst  not  play ! 
At  length,  upon  the  harp,  with  glee, 
Mingled  with  arch  simplicity, 
A  soft,  yet  lively,  air  she  rung, 
While  thus  the  wily  lady  sung  :  — 

XII. 

LOCHINVAR,2  LADY  HERON'S  SONG. 

0,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west, 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was  the  best ; 
And  save   his  good   broadsword,  he  weapons  had 

none, 
He  rode  all  unarm'd,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 

1  The  MS.  has  only  — 

"  For,  all  for  heat,  was  laid  aside 
Her  wimpled  hood  and  gorget's  pride  : 
And  on  the  righted  harp  with  glee, 
Mingled  with  arch  simplicity, 
A  soft,  yet  lively,  air  she  rang, 
While  thus  her  voice  attendant  sang." 

2  The  ballad  of  Lochinvar  is  in  a  very  slight  degree  founded 
on  a  ballad  called  Katharine  Janfarie,  which  may  be  found  in 
the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  vol.  iii. 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  207 

So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He  staid  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopp'd  not  for  stone, 
He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was  none ; 
But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 
The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late : 
For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war, 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  enter'd  the  Netherby  Hall, 

Among  bride's-men,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers,  and 

all: 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword, 
(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word,) 
"  O  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 
Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar  ? "  — 

"  I  long  woo'd  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied ;  — 
Love  swells  like  the  Sol  way,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide  — * 
And  now  am  I  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine, 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far, 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar." 

The  bride  kiss'd  the  goblet :  the  knight  took  it  up, 
He  quaff  d  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the  cup. 
She  look'd  down  to  blush,  and  she  look'd  up  to  sigh, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 

1  See  the  novel  of  Redgauntlet,  for  a  detailed  picture  of 
some  of  the  extraordinary  phenomena  of  the  spring-tides  in 
the  Solway  Frith. 


ao8  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could  bar,  — 
"  Now  tread  we  a  measure  ! "  said  young  Lochinvar. 


So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace ; 

While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did 
fume, 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and 
plume ; 

And  the  bride-maidens  whisper'd,  "  'Twere  better  by 
far, 

To  have  match'd  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Loch- 
invar." 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 
When  they  reach'd  the  hall-door,  and  the  charger 

stood  near; 

So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! 
"  She  is  won  !    we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and 

scaur ; 
They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth  young 

Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby 

clan; 
Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and 

they  ran : 

There  was  racing  and  chasing,  on  Cannobie  Lee, 
But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see. 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  209 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar  ? 

XIII. 

The  Monarch  o'er  the  siren  hung, 
And  beat  the  measure  as  she  sung ; 
And,  pressing  closer,  and  more  near, 
He  whisper'd  praises  in  her  ear. 
In  loud  applause  the  courtiers  vied  ; 
And  ladies  wink'd,  and  spoke  aside. 

The  witching  dame  to  Marmion  threw 
A  glance,  where  seem'd  to  reign 

The  pride  that  claims  applauses  due, 

And  of  her  royal  conquest  too, 

A  real  or  f eign'd  disdain  : 
Familiar  was  the  look,  and  told, 
Marmion  and  she  were  friends  of  old. 
The  King  observed  their  meeting  eyes, 
With  something  like  displeased  surprise ; 
For  monarchs  ill  can  rivals  brook, 
Even  in  a  word,  or  smile,  or  look. 
Straight  took  he  forth  the  parchment  broad, 
Which  Marmion's  high  commission  show'd : 
"  Our  Borders  sack'd  by  many  a  raid, 

Our  peaceful  liege-men  robb'd,"  he  said ; 
"  On  day  of  truce  our  Warden  slain, 
Stout  Barton  kill'd,  his  vassals  ta'en  — 
Unworthy  were  we  here  to  reign, 
Should  these  for  vengeance  cry  in  vain; 
Our  full  defiance,  hate,  and  scorn, 
Our  herald  has  to  Henry  borne." 

14 


2io  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

XIV. 

He  paused,  and  led  where  Douglas  stood, 
And  with  stern  eye  the  pageant  view'd : 
I  mean  that  Douglas,  sixth  of  yore, 
Who  coronet  of  Angus  bore, 
And,  when  his  blood  and  heart  were  high,1 
Did  the  third  James  in  camp  defy, 
And  all  his  minions  led  to  die 

On  Lauder's  dreary  flat : 
Princes  and  favourites  long  grew  tame, 
And  trembled  at  the  homely  name 

Of  Archibald  Bell-the-Cat ; 2 
The  same  who  left  the  dusky  vale 
Of  Hermitage  in  Liddisdale, 

Its  dungeons,  and  its  towers, 
Where  Bothwell's  turrets  brave  the  air, 
And  Bothwell  bank  is  blooming  fair, 

To  fix  his  princely  bowers. 
Though  now,  in  age,  he  had  laid  down 
His  armour  for  the  peaceful  gown, 

And  for  a  staff  his  brand, 
Yet  often  would  flash  forth  the  fire, 
That  could,  in  youth,  a  monarch's  ire 

And  minion's  pride  withstand ; 
And  even  that  day,  at  council  board, 

Unapt  to  soothe  his  sovereign's  mood, 

1  MS.  —  "  And,  when  his  blood  and  heart  were  high, 
King  James's  minions  led  to  die, 
On  Lauder's  dreary  flat." 

9  Bell-the-Cat,  see  Appendix,  Note  M. 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  211 

Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood, 
And  chafed  his  royal  Lord.1 

XV. 

His  giant-form,  like  ruin'd  tower, 
Though  fall'n  its  muscles'  brawny  vaunt, 
Huge-boned,  and  tall,  and  grim,  and  gaunt, 

Seem'd  o'er  the  gaudy  scene  to  lower : 
His  locks  and  beard  in  silver  grew ; 
His  eyebrows  kept  their  sable  hue. 
Near  Douglas  when  the  Monarch  stood, 
His  bitter  speech  he  thus  pursued :  — 
"  Lord  Marmion,  since  these  letters  say 
That  in  the  North  you  needs  must  stay, 

While  slightest  hopes  of  peace  remain, 
Uncourteous  speech  it  were,  and  stern, 
To  say  —  Eeturn  to  Lindisfarne, 

Until  my  herald  come  again.  — 
Then  rest  you  on  Tantallon  Hold ; z 

1  Angus  was  an  old  man  when  the  war  against  England  was 
resolved  upon.  He  earnestly  spoke  against  that  measure  from 
its  commencement ;  and,  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Flodden, 
remonstrated  so  freely  upon  the  impolicy  of  fighting,  that  the 
king  said  to  him,  with  scorn  and  indignation,  "  If  he  was 
afraid,  he  might  go  home."  The  earl  burst  into  tears  at  this 
insupportable  insult,  and  retired  accordingly,  leaving  his  sons, 
George,  Master  of  Angus,  and  Sir  William  of  Glenbervie,  to 
command  his  followers.  They  were  both  slain  in  the  battle, 
with  two  hundred  gentlemen  of  the  name  of  Douglas.  The 
aged  earl,  broken-hearted  at  the  calamities  of  his  house  and 
his  country,  retired  into  a  religious  house,  where  he  died  about 
a  year  after  the  field  of  Flodden. 

3  The  ruins  of  Tantallon  Castle  occupy  a  high  rock  project- 
ing into  the  German  Ocean,  about  two  miles  east  of  North 


212  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

Your  host  shall  be  the  Douglas  bold,  — 
A  chief  unlike  his  sires  of  old. 

Berwick.  The  building  is  not  seen  till  a  close  approach,  as 
there  is  rising  ground  betwixt  it  and  the  land.  The  circuit  is 
of  large  extent,  fenced  upon  three  sides  by  the  precipice  which 
overhangs  the  sea,  and  on  the  fourth  by  a  double  ditch  and 
very  strong  outworks.  Tantallon  was  a  principal  castle  of  the 
Douglas  family,  and  when  the  Earl  of  Angus  was  banished,  in 
1527,  it  continued  to  hold  out  against  James  V.  The  King 
went  in  person  against  it,  and,  for  its  reduction,  borrowed 
from  the  Castle  of  Dunbar,  then  belonging  to  the  Duke  of 
Albany,  two  great  cannons,  whose  names,  as  Pitscottie  in- 
forms us  with  laudable  minuteness,  were  "  Thrawn-mouth'd 
Meg  and  her  Marrow;"  also,  "two  great  botcards,  and  two 
moyan,  two  double  falcons,  and  four  quarter  falcons  ;  "  for  the 
safe  guiding  and  re-delivery  of  which,  three  lords  were  laid 
in  pawn  at  Dunbar.  Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this  apparatus, 
James  was  forced  to  raise  the  siege,  and  only  afterward  ob- 
tained possession  of  Tantallon  by  treaty  with  the  governor, 
Simon  Panango.  When  the  Earl  of  Angus  returned  from  ban- 
ishment, upon  the  death  of  James,  he  again  obtained  posses- 
sion of  Tantallon,  and  it  actually  afforded  refuge  to  an  English 
ambassador,  under  circumstances  similar  to  those  described  in 
the  text.  This  was  no  other  than  the  celebrated  Sir  Ralph 
Sadler,  who  resided  there  for  some  time  under  Angus' s  pro- 
tection, after  the  failure  of  his  negotiation  for  matching  the 
infant  Mary  with  Edward  VI.  He  says  that,  though  this 
place  was  poorly  furnished,  it  was  of  such  strength  as  might 
warrant  him  against  the  malice  of  his  enemies,  and  that  he 
now  thought  himself  out  of  danger.1 

There  is  a  military  tradition,  that  the  old  Scottish  March 
was  meant  to  express  the  words, 

Ding  down  Tantallon, 
Mak  a  brig  to  the  Bass. 

Tantallon  was  at  length  "  dung  down  "  and  ruined  by  the 
Covenanters,  its  lord,  the  Marquis  of  Douglas,  being  a  fa- 

1The  very  curious  State  Papers  of  this  able  negotiator  were,  in 
1810,  published  by  Mr.  Clifford,  with  some  notes  by  the  Author  of 
Marmion. 


Tantallon  Castle. 

Photogravure  —  from  Drawing  by  J.  M.  W.  Turner,  R.  A. 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  213 

He  wears  their  motto  on  his  blade,1 
Their  blazon  o'er  his  towers  display'd ; 
Yet  loves  his  sovereign  to  oppose, 
More  than  to  face  his  country's  foes. 
And,  I  bethink  me,  by  St.  Stephen, 

But  e'en  this  morn  to  me  was  given  2 
A  prize,  the  first  fruits  of  the  war, 
Ta'en  by  a  galley  from  Dunbar, 

vourer  of  the  royal  cause.  The  castle  and  barony  were  sold 
in  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century  to  President  Dal- 
rymple  of  North  Berwick,  by  the  then  Marquis  of  Douglas. 

1A  very  ancient  sword,  in  possession  of  Lord  Douglas, 
bears,  among  a  great  deal  of  flourishing,  two  hands  pointing 
to  a  heart,  which  is  placed  betwixt  them,  and  the  date  1329, 
being  the  year  in  which  Bruce  charged  the  Good  Lord  Douglas 
to  carry  his  heart  to  the  holy  land.  The  following  lines  (the 
first  couplet  of  which  is  quoted  by  Godscroft  as  a  popular  say- 
ing in  his  time)  are  inscribed  around  the  emblem  : 

"  So  mony  guid  as  of  ye  Dovglas  beinge, 
Of  ane  surname  was  ne'er  in  Scotland  seine. 

"  I  will  ye  charge,  efter  yat  I  depart, 
To  holy  grawe,  and  thair  bury  my  hart ; 
Let  it  remane  ever  BOTHE  TTME  AND  HOWR, 
To  ye  last  day  I  sie  my  Saviour. 


"  I  do  protest  in  tyme  of  al  my  ringe, 
Ye  lyk  subject  had  never  ony  keing." 


This  curious  and  valuable  relic  was  nearly  lost  during  the  Civil 
War  of  1745-46,  being  carried  away  from  Douglas  Castle  by 
some  of  those  in  arms  for  Prince  Charles.  But  great  interest 
having  been  made  by  the  Duke  of  Douglas  among  the  chief 
partisans  of  the  Stuart,  it  was  at  length  restored.  It  resembles 
a  Highland  claymore,  of  the  usual  size,  is  of  an  excellent  tem- 
per, and  admirably  poised. 

2 MS. — "But  yester  morn  was  hither  driven." 


214  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

A  bevy  of  the  maids  of  Heaven. 
Under  your  guard,  these  holy  maids 
Shall  safe  return  to  cloister  shades, 
And,  while  they  at  Tantallon  stay, 
Eequiem  for  Cochran's  soul  may  say." 
And,  with  the  slaughter'd  favourite's  name, 
Across  the  Monarch's  brow  there  came 
A  cloud  of  ire,  remorse  and  shame. 

XVI. 

In  answer  nought  could  Angus  speak ; 
His  proud  heart  swell'd  well-nigh  to  break ; 
He  turn'd  aside,  and  down  his  cheek 

A  burning  tear  there  stole. 
His  hand  the  Monarch  sudden  took, 
That  sight  his  kind  heart  could  not  brook : 
"  Now,  by  the  Bruce's  soul,1 
Angus,  my  hasty  speech  forgive ! 
For  sure  as  doth  his  spirit  live, 
As  he  said  of  the  Douglas  old, 

I  well  may  say  of  you,  — 
That  never  King  did  subject  hold, 
In  speech  more  free,  in  war  more  bold, 

More  tender  and  more  true : 2 
Forgive  me,  Douglas,  once  again."  — 
And,  while  the  King  his  hand  did  strain, 
The  old  man's  tears  fell  down  like  rain. 

1  The  two  next  lines  are  not  in  the  original  MS. 

2  "  0,  Dowglas  !  Dowglas  ! 
Tendir  and  trew." 

— The  Houlate. 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  215 

To  seize  the  moment  Marmion  tried, 
And  whisper'd  to  the  King  aside : 
*  Oh !  let  such  tears  unwonted  plead 
For  respite  short  from  dubious  deed ! 
A  child  will  weep  a  bramble's  smart, 
A  maid  to  see  her  sparrow  part,1 
A  stripling  for  a  woman's  heart : 
But  woe  awaits  a  country,  when 
She  sees  the  tears  of  bearded  men. 
Then,  oh !  what  omen,  dark  and  high, 
When  Douglas  wets  his  manly  eye ! " 

XVII. 

Displeased  was  James,  that  stranger  viewM 
And  tamper'd  with  his  changing  mood. 

"  Laugh  those  that  can,  weep  those  that  may," 
Thus  did  the  fiery  Monarch  say, 

"  Southward  I  march  by  break  of  day ; 
And  if  within  Tantallon  strong, 
The  good  Lord  Marmion  tarries  long, 
Perchance  our  meeting  next  may  fall 
At  Tamworth,  in  his  castle-hall."  — 
The  haughty  Marmion  felt  the  taunt, 
And  answer'd,  grave,  the  royal  vaunt : 

"  Much  honour'd  were  my  humble  home, 
If  in  its  halls  King  James  should  come ; 
But  Nottingham  has  archers  good, 
And  Yorkshire  men  are  stern  of  mood ; 
Northumbrian  prickers  wild  and  rude. 

. — "  A  maid  to  see  her  love  depart." 


21 6  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

On  Derby  Hills  the  paths  are  steep ; 
In  Ouse  and  Tyne  the  fords  are  deep ; 
And  many  a  banner  will  be  torn, 
And  many  a  knight  to  earth  be  borne, 
And  many  a  sheaf  of  arrows  spent, 
Ere  Scotland's  King  shall  cross  the  Trent : 
Yet  pause,  brave  Prince,  while  yet  you  may ! "  — 
The  Monarch  lightly  turn'd  away, 
And  to  his  nobles  loud  did  call,  — 
"  Lords,  to  the  dance,  —  a  hall !  a  hall ! " l 
Himself  his  cloak  and  sword  flung  by, 
And  led  Dame  Heron  gallantly; 
And  Minstrels,  at  the  royal  order, 
Eung  out  —  "  Blue  Bonnets  o'er  the  Border." 

XVIII. 

Leave  we  these  revels  now,  to  tell 
What  to  Saint  Hilda's  maids  befell, 
Whose  galley,  as  they  sail'd  again 
To  Whitby,  by  a  Scot  was  ta'en. 
Now  at  Dun-Edin  did  they  bide, 
Till  James  should  of  their  fate  decide ; 

And  soon,  by  his  command, 
Were  gently  summon'd  to  prepare 
To  journey  under  Marmion's  care, 
As  escort  honour'd,  safe,  and  fair, 

Again  to  English  land. 
The  Abbess  told  her  chaplet  o'er, 
Nor  knew  which  Saint  she  should  implore ; 
For,  when  she  thought  of  Constance,  sore 
1  The  ancient  cry  to  make  room  for  a  dance,  or  pageant. 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  217 

She  fear'd  Lord  Marmion's  mood. 
And  judge  what  Clara  must  have  felt ! 
The  sword,  that  hung  in  Marmion's  belt, 

Had  drunk  De  Wilton's  blood. 
Unwittingly,  King  James  had  given, 

As  guard  to  Whitby's  shades, 
The  man  most  dreaded  under  heaven 

By  these  defenceless  maids : 
Yet  what  petition  could  avail, 
Or  who  would  listen  to  the  tale 
Of  woman,  prisoner,  and  nun, 
Mid  bustle  of  a  war  begun  ? 
They  deem'd  it  hopeless  to  avoid 
The  convoy  of  their  dangerous  guide. 

XIX. 

Their  lodging,  so  the  King  assign'd, 
To  Marmion's,  as  their  guardian,  join'd ; 
And  thus  it  fell,  that,  passing  nigh, 
The  Palmer  caught  the  Abbess'  eye, 

Who  warn'd  him  by  a  scroll, 
She  had  a  secret  to  reveal, 
That  much  concern'd  the  Church's  weal, 

And  health  of  sinner's  soul ; 
And,  with  deep  charge  of  secrecy, 

She  named  a  place  to  meet, 
Within  an  open  balcony, 
That  hung  from  dizzy  pitch,  and  high, 

Above  the  stately  street ; 
To  which,  as  common  to  each  home, 
At  night  they  might  in  secret  come. 


21 8  -  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

XX. 

At  night,  in  secret,  there  they  came, 
The  Palmer  and  the  holy  dame. 
The  moon  among  the  clouds  rose  high, 
And  all  the  city  hum  was  by. 
Upon  the  street,  where  late  before 
Did  din  of  war  and  warriors  roar, 

You  might  have  heard  a  pebble  fall, 
A  beetle  hum,  a  cricket  sing, 
An  owlet  flap  his  boding  wing 

On  Giles's  steeple  tall. 
The  antique  buildings,  climbing  high, 
Whose  Gothic  frontlets  sought  the  sky, 

Were  here  wrapt  deep  in  shade ; 
There  on  their  brows  the  moonbeam  broke, 
Through  the  faint  wreaths  of  silvery  smoke, 

And  on  the  casements  play'd. 

And  other  light  was  none  to  see, 
Save  torches  gliding  far, 

Before  some  chieftain  of  degree, 

Who  left  the  royal  revelry 

To  bowne  him  for  the  war.  — 
A  solemn  scene  the  Abbess  chose ; 
A  solemn  hour,  her  secret  to  disclose. 

XXI. 

"  O,  holy  Palmer  ! "  she  began,  — 

"  For  sure  he  must  be  sainted  man, 
Whose  blessed  feet  have  trod  the  ground 
Where  the  Kedeemer's  tomb  is  found,  — 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  219 

For  His  dear  Church's  sake,  my  tale 
Attend,  nor  deem  of  light  avail, 
Though  I  must  speak  of  worldly  love, — 
How  vain  to  those  who  wed  above !  — 
De  Wilton  and  Lord  Marmion  woo'd l 
Clara  de  Clare,  of  Gloster's  blood ; 
(Idle  it  were  of  Whitby's  dame, 
To  say  of  that  same  blood  I  came ;) 
And  once,  when  jealous  rage  was  high, 
Lord  Marmion  said  despiteously, 
Wilton  was  traitor  in  his  heart, 
And  had  made  league  with  Martin  Swart,2 
When  he  came  here  on  Simnel's  part ; 
And  only  cowardice  did  restrain 
His  rebel  aid  on  Stokefield's  plain,  — 
And  down  he  threw  his  glove :  —  the  thing 
Was  tried,  as  wont,  before  the  King ; 

1  There  are  passages  in  which  the  flatness  and  tediousness 
of  the  narrative  is  relieved  by  no  sort  of  beauty  nor  elegance  of 
diction,  and  which  form  an  extraordinary  contrast  with  the 
more  animated  and  finished  portions  of  the  poem.     We  shall 
not  afflict  our  readers  with  more  than  one  specimen  of  this 
falling  off.     We  select  it  from  the  Abbess's  explanation  to  De 
Wilton : 

"De  Wilton  and  Lord  Marmion  woo'd,"  etc., 

(and  twenty-two  following  lines).  — Jeffrey. 

2  A  German  general,  who  commanded  the  auxiliaries  sent 
by  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy  with  Lambert  Simnel.     He  was 
defeated  and  killed  at  Stokefield.     The  name  of  this  German 
general  is  preserved  by  that  of  the  field  of  battle,  which  is 
called,  after  him,  Swart-moor.     There  were  songs  about  him 
long  current  in  England.     See  Dissertation  prefixed  to  Ritson's 
Ancient  Songs,  1792,  p.  Ixi. 


220  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

Where  frankly  did  De  Wilton  own, 
That  Swart  in  Guelders  he  had  known ; 
And  that  between  them  then  there  went 
Some  scroll  of  courteous  compliment. 
For  this  he  to  his  castle  sent ; 
But  when  his  messenger  return'd, 
Judge  how  De  Wilton's  fury  burn'd ! 
For  in  his  packet  there  were  laid 
Letters  that  claim'd  disloyal  aid, 
And  proved  King  Henry's  cause  betray'd. 
His  fame,  thus  blighted,  in  the  field 
He  strove  to  clear,  by  spear  and  shield ;  — 
To  clear  his  fame  in  vain  he  strove, 
For  wondrous  are  His  ways  above  ! 
Perchance  some  form  was  unobserved ; 
Perchance  in  prayer,  or  faith,  he  swerved ; l 

1  It  was  early  necessary  for  those  who  felt  themselves  obliged 
to  believe  in  the  divine  judgment  being  enunciated  in  the  trial 
by  duel,  to  find  salvos  for  the  strange  and  obviously  precarious 
chances  of  the  combat.  Various  curious  evasive  shifts,  used 
by  those  who  took  up  an  unrighteous  quarrel,  were  supposed 
sufficient  to  convert  it  into  a  just  one.  Thus,  in  the  romance 
of  Amys  and  Amelion,  the  one  brother-in-arms,  fighting  for  the 
other,  disguised  in  his  armour,  swears  that  he  did  not  commit 
the  crime  of  which  the  Steward,  his  antagonist,  truly,  though 
maliciously,  accused  him  whom  he  represented.  Brantome 
tells  a  story  of  an  Italian,  who  entered  the  lists  upon  an  unjust 
quarrel,  but,  to  make  his  cause  good,  fled  from  his  enemy  at 
the  first  onset.  "Turn,  coward  !"  exclaimed  his  antagonist. 
"Thou  liest,"  said  the  Italian,  "coward  am  I  none;  and  in 
this  quarrel  will  I  fight  to  the  death,  but  my  first  cause  of 
combat  was  unjust,  and  I  abandon  it."  "  Je  vous  laisse  it 
Denser,"  adds  Brantome,  "  s'iZ  n'y  a  pas  de  Vabus  ia."  Else- 
where he  says,  very  sensibly,  upon  the  confidence  which  those 


Canto  V.  THE    COURT.  221 

Else  how  could  guiltless  champion  quail, 
Or  how  the  blessed  ordeal  fail  ? 

XXII. 

"  His  squire,  who  now  De  Wilton  saw 
As  recreant  doom'd  to  suffer  law, 

Repentant,  own'd  in  vain, 
That,  while  he  had  the  scrolls  in  care, 
A  stranger  maiden,  passing  fair, 
Had  drench'd  him  with  a  beverage  rare ; 

His  words  no  faith  could  gain. 
With  Clare  alone  he  credence  won, 
Who,  rather  than  wed  Marmion, 
Did  to  Saint  Hilda's  shrine  repair, 
To  give  our  house  her  livings  fair, 
And  die  a  vestal  vot'ress  there. 
The  impulse  from  the  earth  was  given, 
But  bent  her  to  the  paths  of  heaven. 
A  purer  heart,  a  lovelier  maid, 
Ne'er  shelter'd  her  in  Whitby's  shade, 
No,  not  since  Saxon  Edelfled ; 

Only  one  trace  of  earthly  strain, 
That  for  her  lover's  loss 

who  had  a  righteous  cause  entertained  of  victory  :  "  Un  autre 
aJbus  y  avoit-il,  que  ceux  qui  avoient  un  juste  subjet  de  querelle, 
et  qu'on  les  faisoit  jurer  avant  entrer  au  camp,  pensoient  estre 
aussitost  vainqueurs,  voire  s'en  assuroient-t-ils  du  tout,  mesmes 
que  leurs  confesseurs,  parrains  et  confidants  leurs  en  respon- 
doient  tout-a-fait,  comme  si  Dieu  leur  en  eust  donne  unepatente; 
et  ne  regardant  point  a  d'autres  fautes  passees,  et  que  Dieu  en 
garde  la  punition  a  ce  coup  la  pour  plus  grande,  despiteuse,  et 
exemplaire."  —  Discours  sur  les  Duels. 


222  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

She  cherishes  a  sorrow  vain, 
And  murmurs  at  the  cross.  — 

And  then  her  heritage ;  —  it  goes 
Along  the  banks  of  Tame ; 

Deep  fields  of  grain  the  reaper  mows, 

In  meadows  rich  the  heifer  lows, 

The  falconer  and  huntsman  knows 

Its  woodlands  for  the  game. 
Shame  were  it  to  Saint  Hilda  dear, 
And  I,  her  humble  vot'ress  here, 

Should  do  a  deadly  sin, 
Her  temple  spoil'd  before  mine  eyes, 
If  this  false  Marmion  such  a  prize 

By  my  consent  should  win; 
Yet  hath  our  boisterous  monarch  sworn, 
That  Clare  shall  from  our  house  be  torn ; 
And  grievous  cause  have  I  to  fear, 
Such  mandate  doth  Lord  Marmion  bear. 

XXIIL 

"  Now,  prisoner,  helpless,  and  betray'd 
To  evil  power,  I  claim  thine  aid, 

By  every  step  that  thou  hast  trod 
To  holy  shrine  and  grotto  dim, 
By  every  martyr's  tortured  limb, 
By  angel,  saint,  and  seraphim, 

And  by  the  Church  of  God ! 
For  mark :  —  When  Wilton  was  betray'd, 
And  with  his  squire  forged  letters  laid, 
She  was,  alas !  that  sinful  maid, 

By  whom  the  deed  was  done,  — 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  223 

O !  shame  and  horror  to  be  said !  — 

She  was  a  perjured  nun ! 
No  clerk  in  all  the  land,  like  her, 
Traced  quaint  and  varying  character. 
Perchance  you  may  a  marvel  deem, 

That  Marmion's  paramour 
(For  such  vile  thing  she  was)  should  scheme 

Her  lover's  nuptial  hour ; 
But  o'er  him  thus  she  hoped  to  gain, 
As  privy  to  his  honour's  stain, 

Illimitable  power : 
For  this  she  secretly  retain'd 

Each  proof  that  might  the  plot  reveal, 

Instructions  with  his  hand  and  seal : 
And  thus  Saint  Hilda  deign'd, 

Through  sinners'  perfidy  impure, 

Her  house's  glory  to  secure, 
And  Clare's  immortal  weal. 

xxrv. 

"  Twere  long,  and  needless,  here  to  tell, 
How  to  my  hand  these  papers  fell ; 

With  me  they  must  not  stay. 
Saint  Hilda  keep  her  Abbess  true ! 
Who  knows  what  outrage  he  might  do, 

While  journeying  by  the  way  ?  — 
O,  blessed  Saint,  if  e'er  again 
I  venturous  leave  thy.  calm  domain, 
To  travel  or  by  land  or  main, 

Deep  penance  may  I  pay !  — 


224  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

Now,  saintly  Palmer,  mark  my  prayer : 

I  give  this  packet  to  thy  care, 

For  thee  to  stop  they  will  not  dare ; 

And  O  !  with  cautious  speed, 
To  Wolsey's  hand  the  papers  bring, 
That  he  may  show  them  to  the  King : 

And,  for  thy  well-earn'd  meed, 
Thou  holy  man,  at  Whitby's  shrine 
A  weekly  mass  shall  still  be  thine, 

While  priests  can  sing  and  read.  — 
What  ail'st  thou  ?  —  Speak ! "  —  For  as  he  took 
The  charge,  a  strong  emotion  shook 

His  frame ;  and,  ere  reply, 
They  heard  a  faint,  yet  shrilly  tone, 
Like  distant  clarion  feebly  blown, 

That  on  the  breeze  did  die ; 
And  loud  the  Abbess  shriek'd  in  fear, 
*  Saint  Withold,  save  us !  —  What  is  here ! 

Look  at  yon  City  Cross  ! 
See  on  its  battled  tower  appear 
Phantoms,  that  scutcheons  seem  to  rear, 

And  blazon'd  banners  toss ! "  — 

XXV. 

Dun-Edin's  Cross,  a  pillar'd  stone,1 
Eose  on  a  turret  octagon ; 

1  MS.  —  "  Dun-Edin's  Cross,  a  pillar'd  stone, 
Rose  on  a  turret  hexagon ; 
(Dust  unto  dust,  lead  unto  lead, 

On  its  destroyer's  drowsy  )    , 

„        .,    ,  ,    >   head !  — 

Upon  its  base  destroyer's  > 

The  Minstrel's  malison  is  said.)  " 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  225 

(But  now  is  razed  that  monument, 
Whence  royal  edict  rang, 

And  voice  of  Scotland's  law  was  sent 

In  glorious  trumpet-clang. 
O !  be  his  tomb  as  lead  to  lead, 
Upon  its  dull  destroyer's  head !  — 
A  minstrel's  malison l  is  said.2)  — 
Then  on  its  battlements  they  saw 
A  vision,  passing  Nature's  law, 

Strange,  wild,  and  dimly  seen ; 
Figures  that  seem'd  to  rise  and  die, 
Gibber  and  sign,  advance  and  fly, 
While  nought  confirm'd  could  ear  or  eye 

1  i.  e.  Curse. 

3  The  Cross  of  Edinburgh  was  an  ancient  and  curious 
structure.  The  lower  part  was  an  octagonal  tower,  sixteen 
feet  in  diameter,  and  about  fifteen  feet  high.  At  each  angle 
there  was  a  pillar,  and  between  them  an  arch  of  the  Grecian 
shape.  Above  these  was  a  projecting  battlement,  with  a  turret 
at  each  corner,  and  medallions,  of  rude  but  curious  workman- 
ship, between  them.  Above  this  rose  the  proper  cross,  a 
column  of  one  stone,  upwards  of  twenty  feet  high,  surmounted 
with  a  unicorn.  This  pillar  is  preserved  in  the  grounds  of  the 
property  of  Drum,  near  Edinburgh.  The  magistrates  of  Edin- 
burgh, in  1756,  with  consent  of  the  Lords  of  Session  (proh 
jmdor/),  destroyed  this  curious  monument,  under  a  wantoa 
pretext  that  it  encumbered  the  street ;  while,  on  the  one  hand, 
they  left  an  ugly  mass  called  -the  Luckenbooths,  and,  on  the 
other,  an  awkward,  long,  and  low  guard-house,  which  were 
fifty  times  more  encumbrance  than  the  venerable  and  inoffen- 
sive cross. 

From  the  tower  of  the  cross,  so  long  as  it  remained,  the 
heralds  published  the  acts  of  Parliament ;  and  its  site,  marked 
by  radii,  diverging  from  a  stone  centre,  in  the  High  Street,  is 
still  the  place  where  proclamations  are  made. 
15 


226  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

Discern  of  sound  or  mien. 
Yet  darkly  did  it  seem,  as  there 
Heralds  and  Pursuivants  prepare, 
With  trumpet  sound,  and  blazon  fair, 

A  summons  to  proclaim ; 
But  indistinct  the  pageant  proud, 
As  fancy  forms  of  midnight  cloud, 
When  flings  the  moon  upon  her  shroud 

A  wavering  tinge  of  flame ; 
It  flits,  expands,  and  shifts,  till  loud, 
From  midmost  of  the  spectre  crowd, 

This  awful  summons  came:  — 1 


XXVI. 

'  Prince,  prelate,  potentate,  and  peer, 

Whose  names  I  now  shall  call, 
Scottish,  or  foreigner,  give  ear  I 
Subjects  of  him  who  sent  me  here, 
At  his  tribunal  to  appear, 
I  summon  one  and  all : 
I  cite  you  by  each  deadly  sin, 
That  e'er  hath  soil'd  your  hearts  within ; 
I  cite  you  by  each  brutal  lust, 
That  e'er  defiled  your  earthly  dust,  — 

By  wrath,  by  pride,  by  fear,2 
By  each  o'er-mastering  passion's  tone, 
By  the  dark  grave,  and  dying  groan ! 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

2 MS.  —  "  By  wrath,  by  fraud,  by  fear." 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  227 

When  forty  days  are  pass'd  and  gone,1 
I  cite  you,  at  your  Monarch's  throne, 

To  answer  and  appear."  — 
Then  thunder'd  forth  a  roll  of  names :  — 
The  first  was  thine,  unhappy  James ! 

Then  all  thy  nobles  came ; 
Crawford,  Glencairn,  Montrose,  Argyle, 
Boss,  Both  well,  Forbes,  Lennox,  Lyle, — 
Why  should  I  tell  their  separate  style  ? 

Each  chief  of  birth  and  fame, 
Of  Lowknd,  Highland,  Border,  Isle, 
Fore-doom'd  to  Flodden's  carnage  pile, 

Was  cited  there  by  name ; 
And  Marmion,  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye ; 
De  Wilton,  erst  of  Aberley, 
The  self-same  thundering  voice  did  say.  — * 

But  then  another  spoke : 
*  Thy  fatal  summons  I  deny, 
And  thine  infernal  Lord  defy, 
Appealing  me  to  Him  on  High, 

Who  burst  the  sinner's  yoke." 
At  that  dread  accent,  with  a  scream, 
Parted  the  pageant  like  a  dream, 

The  summoner  was  gona 
Prone  on  her  face  the  Abbess  fell, 
And  fast,  and  fast,  her  beads  did  tell ; 

1  MS.  —  "  Ere  twenty  days  are  pass'd  and  gone, 
Before  the  mighty  Monarch's  throne, 
I  cite  you  to  appear." 

a MS.  —  "In  thundering  tone  the  voice  did  say." 


228  MARMION.  Canto  V* 

Her  nuns  came,  startled  by  the  yell, 

And  found  her  there  alone. 
She  mark'd  not,  at  the  scene  aghast, 
What  time,  or  how,  the  Palmer  pass'd. 

XXVII. 

Shift  we  the  scene.  —  The  camp  doth  move, 

Dun-Edin's  streets  are  empty  now, 
Save  when,  for  weal  of  those  they  love, 

To  pray  the  prayer,  and  vow  the  vow, 
The  tottering  child,  the  anxious  fair, 
The  gray-hair'd  sire,  with  pious  care, 
To  chapels  and  to  shrines  repair  — 
Where  is  the  Palmer  now  ?  and  where 
The  Abbess,  Marmion,  and  Clare  ?  — 
Bold  Douglas !  to  Tantallon  fair 

They  journey  in  thy  charge : 
Lord  Marmion  rode  on  his  right  hand, 
The  Palmer  still  was  with  the  band ; 
Angus,  like  Lindesay,  did  command, 

That  none  should  roam  at  large. 
But  in  that  Palmer's  alter'd  mien 
A  wondrous  change  might  now  be  seen, 

Freely  he  spoke  of  war, 
Of  marvels  wrought  by  single  hand, 
When  lifted  for  a  native  land ; 
And  still  look'd  high,  as  if  he  plann'd 

Some  desperate  deed  afar. 
His  courser  would  he  feed  and  stroke, 
And,  tucking  up  his  sable  frocke, 
Would  first  his  mettle  bold  provoke, 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  229 

Then  soothe  or  quell  his  pride. 
Old  Hubert  said,  that  never  one 
He  saw,  except  Lord  Marmion, 

A  steed  so  fairly  ride. 


XXVIIL 

Some  half-hour's  march- behind,  there  came, 
By  Eustace  govern'd  fair, 

A  troop  escorting  Hilda's  Dame, 
With  all  her  nuns,  and  Clare. 

No  audience  had  Lord  Marmion  sought; 
Ever  he  fear'd  to  aggravate 
Clara  de  Clare's  suspicious  hate ; 

And  safer  'twas,  he  thought, 

To  wait  till,  from  the  nuns  removed, 
The  influence  of  kinsmen  loved, 
And  suit  by  Henry's  self  approved, 

Her  slow  consent  had  wrought. 

His  was  no  flickering  flame,  that  dies 
Unless  when  fann'd  by  looks  and  sighs, 
And  lighted  oft  at  lady's  eyes ; 
He  long'd  to  stretch  his  wide  command 
O'er  luckless  Clara's  ample  land : 
Besides,  when  Wilton  with  him  vied, 
Although  the  pang  of  humbled  pride 
The  place  of  jealousy  supplied, 

Yet  conquest,  by  that  meanness  won 

He  almost  loath'd  to  think  upon, 

Led  him,  at  times,  to  hate  the  cause, 

Which  made  him  burst  through  honour's  laws. 


230  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

If  e'er  he  lov*d,  'twas  her  alone, 
Who  died  within  that  vault  of  stone. 

XXIX. 

And  now,  when  close  at  hand  they  saw 
North  Berwick's  town,  and  lofty  Law,1 
Fitz-Eustace  bade  them  pause  a  while, 
Before  a  venerable  pile,2 

Whose  turrets  view'd,  afar, 
The  lofty  Bass,  the  Lambie  Isle,3 

The  ocean's  peace  or  war. 
At  tolling  of  a  bell,  forth  came 
The  convent's  venerable  Dame, 
And  pray'd  Saint  Hilda's  Abbess  rest 
With  her,  a  loved  and  honour'd  guest, 
Till  Douglas  should  a  bark  prepare 
To  waft  her  back  to  Whitby  fair. 
Glad  was  the  Abbess,  you  may  guess, 
And  thank'd  the  Scottish  Prioress ; 
And  tedious  were  to  tell,  I  ween, 
The  courteous  speech  that  pass'd  between. 

O'er joy'd  the  nuns  their  palfreys  leave ; 
But  when  fair  Clara  did  intend, 
like  them,  from  horseback  to  descend, 

Fitz-Eustace  said,  —  "I  grieve, 
Fair  lady,  grieve  e'en  from  my  heart, 

1  MS.  —  " North  Berwick's  town,  and  conic  Law." 

2  The  convent  alluded  to  is  a  foundation  of  Cistertian  nuns, 
near  North  Berwick,  of  which  there  are  still  some  remains.     It 
was  founded  by  Duncan,  Earl  of  Fife,  in  1216. 

8 MS.  —  "  The  lofty  Bass,  the  LamVs  green  isle." 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  231 

Such  gentle  company  to  part ;  — 

Think  not  discourtesy, 
But  lords'  commands  must  be  obey'd ; 
And  Marmion  and  the  Douglas  said, 

That  you  must  wend  with  me. 
Lord  Marmion  hath  a  letter  broad, 
Which  to  the  Scottish  Earl  he  show'd, 
Commanding,  that,  beneath  his  care, 
Without  delay,  you  shall  repair 
To  your  good  kinsman,  Lord  Fitz-Clare." 


XXX. 

The  startled  Abbess  loud  exclaim'd ; 
But  she,  at  whom  the  blow  was  aim'd, 
Grew  pale  as  death,  and  cold  as  lead,  — 
She  deem'd  she  heard  her  death-doom  react 
"  Cheer  thee,  my  child ! "  the  Abbess  said, 
"  They  dare  not  tear  thee  from  my  hand, 
To  ride  alone  with  armed  band."  — 

"  Nay,  holy  mother,  nay," 
Fitz-Eustace  said,  "  the  lovely  Clare 
Will  be  in  Lady  Angus'  care, 

In  Scotland  while  we  stay ; 
And,  when  we  move,  an  easy  ride 
Will  bring  us  to  the  English  side, 
Female  attendance  to  provide 

Befitting  Gloster's  heir ; 
Nor  thinks,  nor  dreams,  my  noble  lord, 
By  slightest  look,  or  act,  or  word, 

To  harass  Lady  Clare. 


232  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

Her  faithful  guardian  he  will  be, 

Nor  sue  for  slightest  courtesy 
That  e'en  to  stranger  falls, 

Till  he  shall  place  her,  safe  and  free, 
Within  her  kinsman's  halls." 

He  spoke,  and  blush'd  with  earnest  grace ; 

His  faith  was  painted  on  his  face, 
And  Clare's  worst  fear  relieved. 

The  Lady  Abbess  loud  exclaim'd 

On  Henry,  and  the  Douglas  blamed, 
Entreated,  threaten'd,  grieved ; 

To  martyr,  saint,  and  prophet  pray'd, 

Against  Lord  Marmion  inveigh'd, 

And  call'd  the  Prioress  to  aid, 

To  curse  with  candle,  bell,  and  book. 

Her  head  the  grave  Cistertian  shook : 
"  The  Douglas,  and  the  King,"  she  said, 
"  In  their  commands  will  be  obey'd ; 

Grieve  not,  nor  dream  that  harm  can  fall 

The  maiden  in  Tantallon  hall." 

XXXI. 

The  Abbess,  seeing  strife  was  vain, 
Assumed  her  wonted  state  again,  — 

For  much  of  state  she  had,  — 
Composed  her  veil,  and  raised  her  head, 
And  —  "  Bid,"  in  solemn  voice  she  said, 

"  Thy  master,  bold  and  bad, 
The  records  of  his  house  turn  o'er, 

And,  when  he  shall  there  written  see, 

That  one  of  his  own  ancestry 


Canto  V.  THE    COURT.  233 

Drove  the  Monks  forth  of  Coventry,1 
Bid  him  his  fate  explore ! 

Prancing  in  pride  of  earthly  trust, 

His  charger  hurl'd  him  to  the  dust, 

And,  by  a  base  plebeian  thrust, 
He  died  his  band  before. 

God  judge  'twixt  Marmion  and  me ; 

He  is  a  Chief  of  high  degree, 
And  I  a  poor  recluse ; 

Yet  oft,  in  holy  writ,  we  see 

Even  such  weak  minister  as  me 
May  the  oppressor  bruise : 

For  thus,  inspired,  did  Judith  slay 
The  mighty  in  his  sin, 

And  Jael  thus,  and  Deborah  "  — 

Here  hasty  Blount  broke  in : 
*'  Fitz-Eustace,  we  must  march  our  band ; 
St.  Anton'  fire  thee !  wilt  thou  stand 
All  day,  with  bonnet  in  thy  hand, 

To  hear  the  Lady  preach  ? 

1  This  relates  to  the  catastrophe  of  a  real  Robert  de  Mar- 
mion, in  the  reign  of  King  Stephen,  whom  William  of  New- 
bury  describes  with  some  attributes  of  my  fictitious  hero : 
"Homo  bellicosus,  ferocia,  et  astucia,  fere  nullo  suo  tempore 
impa.r."  This  baron,  having  expelled  the  monks  from  the 
church  of  Coventry,  was  not  long  of  experiencing  the  divine 
judgment,  as  the  same  monks,  no  doubt,  termed  his  disaster. 
Having  waged  a  feudal  war  with  the  Earl  of  Chester,  Mar- 
mion's  horse  fell,  as  he  charged  in  the  van  of  his  troop,  against 
a  body  of  the  earl's  followers  ;  the  rider's  thigh  being  broken 
by  the  fall,  his  head  was  cut  off  by  a  common  foot-soldier  ere 
he  could  receive  any  succour.  The  whole  story  is  told  by 
William  of  Newbury. 


234  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

By  this  good  light !  if  thus  we  stay, 
Lord  Marmion,  for  our  fond  delay, 

Will  sharper  sermon  teach. 
Come,  d'on  thy  cap,  and  mount  thy  horse ; 
The  Dame  must  patience  take  perforce."  — 

XXXII. 

"  Submit  we  then  to  force,"  said  Clare, 
"  But  let  this  barbarous  lord  despair 

His  purposed  aim  to  win ; 
Let  him  take  living,  land,  and  life ; 
But  to  be  Marmion's  wedded  wife 

In  me  were  deadly  sin : 
And  if  it  be  the  King's  decree, 
That  I  must  find  no  sanctuary, 
In  that  inviolable  dome,1 
Where  even  a  homicide  might  come, 

And  safely  rest  his  head, 
Though  at  its  open  portals  stood, 
Thirsting  to  pour  forth  blood  for  blood, 

The  kinsmen  of  the  dead ; 
Yet  one  asylum  is  my  own 

Against  the  dreaded  hour ; 
A  low,  a  silent,  and  a  lone, 

Where  kings  have  little  power. 
One  victim  is  before  me  there.  — 
Mother,  your  blessing,  and  in  prayer 
Remember  your  unhappy  Clare ! " 

1  This  line,  necessary  to  the  rhyme,  is  now  for  the  first  time 
restored  from  the  MS.  It  must  have  been  omitted  by  an  over- 
sight in  the  original  printing.  —  ED. 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  235 

Loud  weeps  the  Abbess,  and  bestows 

Kind  blessings  many  a  one : 
Weeping  and  wailing  loud  arose, 
Eound  patient  Clare,  the  clamorous  woes 

Of  every  simple  nun. 
His  eyes  the  gentle  Eustace  dried, 
And  scarce  rude  Blount  the  sight  could  bide. 

Then  took  the  squire  her  rein, 
And  gently  led  away  her  steed, 
And,  by  each  courteous  word  and  deed, 

To  cheer  her  strove  in  vain. 

XXXIII. 

But  scant  three  miles  the  band  had  rode, 

When  o'er  a  height  they  pass'd, 
And,  sudden,  close  before  them  showM 

His  towers,  Tantallon  vast ; 
Broad,  massive,  high,  and  stretching  far, 
And  held  impregnable  in  war. 
On  a  projecting  rock  they  rose, 
And  round  three  sides  the  ocean  flows, 
The  fourth  did  battled  walls  enclose, 

And  double  mound  and  fosse.1 

1  During  the  regency  (subsequent  to  the  death  of  James  V.) 
the  dowager  queen  regent,  Mary  of  Guise,  became  desirous 
of  putting  a  French  garrison  into  Tantallon,  as  she  had  into 
Dunbar  and  Inchkeith,  in  order  the  better  to  bridle  the  lords 
and  barons  who  inclined  to  the  reformed  faith,  and  to  secure 
by  citadels  the  sea-coast  of  the  Frith  of  Forth.  For  this  pur- 
pose, the  regent,  to  use  the  phrase  of  the  time,  "dealed  with  " 
the  (then)  Earl  of  Angus  for  his  consent  to  the  proposed  meas- 
ure. He  occupied  himself,  while  she  was  speaking,  in  feeding 


236  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

By  narrow  drawbridge,  outworks  strong, 
Through  studded  gates,  an  entrance  long, 

To  the  main  court  they  cross. 
It  was  a  wide  and  stately  square : 
Around  were  lodgings,  fit  and  fair, 

And  towers  of  various  form, 
Which  on  the  court  projected  far, 
And  broke  its  lines  quadrangular. 
Here  was  square  keep,  there  turret  high, 
Or  pinnacle  that  sought  the  sky, 
Whence  oft  the  Warder  could  descry 

The  gathering  ocean-storm. 

XXXIV. 

Here  did  they  rest.  —  The  princely  care 
Of  Douglas,  why  should  I  declare, 
Or  say  they  met  reception  fair  ? 

Or  why  the  tidings  say, 
Which,  varying,  to  Tantallon  came, 
By  hurrying  posts,  or  fleeter  fame, 

With  every  varying  day  ? 
And,  first,  they  heard  King  James  had  won 

a  falcon  which  sat  upon  his  wrist,  and  only  replied  by  address- 
ing the  bird,  but  leaving  the  queen  to  make  the  application, 
"The  devil  is  in  this  greedy  gled  —  she  will  never  be  fou." 
But  when  the  queen,  without  appearing  to  notice  this  hint, 
continued  to  press  her  obnoxious  request,  Angus  replied,  in 
the  true  spirit  of  a  feudal  noble,  "Yes,  madam,  the  castle  is 
yours  ;  God  forbid  else.  But  by  the  might  of  God,  madam  !  " 
such  was  his  usual  oath.  "  I  must  be  your  captain  and  keeper 
for  you,  and  I  will  keep  it  as  well  as  any  you  can  place  there." 
—  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Provincial  Antiquities,  vol.  ii.  p.  167. 


Canto  V.  THE   COURT.  237 

Etall,  and  Wark,  and  Ford  ;  and  then, 

That  Norham  Castle  strong  was  ta'en. 
At  that  sore  marvell'd  Marmion ;  — 
And  Douglas  hoped  his  Monarch's  hand 
Would  soon  subdue  Northumberland : 

But  whisper'd  news  there  came, 
That,  while  his  host  inactive  lay, 
And  melted  by  degrees  away, 
King  James  was  dallying  off  the  day 

With  Heron's  wily  dame.  — 
Such  acts  to  chronicles  I  yield ; 

Go  seek  them  there,  and  see : 
Mine  is  a  tale  of  Flodden  Field, 

And  not  a  history.  — 
At  length  they  heard  the  Scottish  host 
On  that  high  ridge  had  made  their  post, 

Which  frowns  o'er  Millfield  Plain ; 
And  that  brave  Surrey  many  a  band 
Had  gather'd  in  the  Southern  land, 
And  march'd  into  Northumberland, 

And  camp  at  Wooler  ta'en. 
Marmion,  like  charger  in  the  stall, 
That  hears,  without,  the  trumpet-call, 

Began  to  chafe,  and  swear :  — 
"  A  sorry  thing  to  hide  my  head 
In  castle,  like  a  fearful  maid, 

When  such  a  field  is  near ! 
Needs  must  I  see  this  battle-day : 
Death  to  my  fame  if  such  a  fray 
Were  fought,  and  Marmion  away ! 
The  Douglas,  too,  I  wot  not  why, 


238  MARMION.  Canto  V. 

Hath  'bated  of  his  courtesy : 
No  longer  in  his  halls  I'll  stay." 
Then  bade  his  band  they  should  array 
For  march  against  the  dawning  day. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  SIXTH. 


To  Richard  Heber,  Esq. 

Mertoun-House,1  Christmas. 
HEAP  on  more  wood !  —  the  wind  is  chill ; 
But  let  it  whistle  as  it  will, 
We'll  keep  our  Christmas  merry  stilL 
Each  age  has  deem'd  the  new-born  year 
The  fittest  time  for  festal  cheer : 
Even,  heathen  yet,  the  savage  Dane 
At  lol  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain  ;2 

1  Mertoun-House,  the  seat  of  Hugh  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Harden, 
is  beautifully  situated  on  the  Tweed,  about  two  miles  below 
Dryburgh  Abbey. 

3  The  lol  of  the  heathen  Danes  (a  word  still  applied  to 
Christmas  in  Scotland)  was  solemnised  with  great  festivity. 
The  humour  of  the  Danes  at  table  displayed  itself  in  pelting 
each  other  with  bones ;  and  Torfseus  tells  a  long  and  curious 
story,  in  the  History  of  Hrolfe  Kraka,  of  one  Hottus,  an  inmate 
of  the  court  of  Denmark,  who  was  so  generally  assailed  with 
these  missiles,  that  he  constructed,  out  of  the  bones  with  which 
he  was  overwhelmed,  a  very  respectable  intrenchment,  against 
those  who  continued  the  raillery.  The  dances  of  the  northern 
warriors  around  the  great  fires  of  pine-trees  are  commemorated 
by  Olaus  Magnus,  who  says  they  danced  with  such  fury,  hold- 
ing each  other  by  the  hands,  that,  if  the  grasp  of  any  failed,  he 

239 


240  MARMION. 

High  on  the  beach  his  .galleys  drew, 

And  feasted  all  his  pirate  crew ; 

Then  in  his  low  and  pine-built  hall, 

Where  shields  and  axes  deck'd  the  wall, 

They  gorged  upon  the  half-dress'd  steer ; 

Caroused  in  seas  of  sable  beer ; 

While  round,  in  brutal  jest,  were  thrown 

The  half-gnaw'd  rib,  and  marrow-bone, 

Or  listen'd  all,  in  grim  delight, 

While  scalds  yell'd  out  the  joys  of  fight. 

Then  forth,  in  frenzy,  would  they  hie, 

While  wildly-loose  their  red  locks  fly, 

And  dancing  round  the  blazing  pile, 

They  make  such  barbarous  mirth  the  while,, 

As  best  might  to  the  mind  recall 

The  boisterous  joys  of  Odin's  hall. 

And  well  our  Christian  sires  of  old 
Loved  when  the  year  its  course  had  roll'd, 
And  brought  blithe  Christmas  back  again, 
With  all  his  hospitable  train. 
Domestic  and  religious  rite 
Gave  honour  to  the  holy  night ; 
On  Christmas  eve  the  bells  were  rung ; 
On  Christmas  eve  the  mass  was  sung : 
That  only  night  in  all  the  year, 
Saw  the  stoled  priest  the  chalice  rear.1 

was  pitched  into  the  fire  with  the  velocity  of  a  sling.  The  suf- 
ferer, on  such  occasions,  was  instantly  plucked  out,  and  obliged 
to  quaff  off  a  certain  measure  of  ale,  as  a  penalty  for  "  spoiling 
the  king's  fire." 

1  In  Roman  Catholic  countries,  mass  is  never  said  at  night, 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   SIXTH.        241 

The  damsel  donn'd  her  kirtle  sheen ; 
The  hall  was  dress'd  with  holly  green ; 
Forth  to  the  wood  did  merry-men  go, 
To  gather  in  the  mistletoe. 
Then  open'd  wide  the  Baron's  hall 

except  on  Christmas  eve.  Each  of  the  frolics  with  which  that 
holyday  used  to  be  celebrated  might  admit  of  a  long  and  curi- 
ous note  ;  but  I  shall  content  myself  with  the  following  descrip- 
tion of  Christmas,  and  his  attributes,  as  personified  in  one  of 
Ben  Jonson's  Masques  for  the  Court. 

"  Enter  CHRISTMAS,  with  two  or  three  of  the  Guard.  He  is 
attired  in  round  hose,  long  stockings,  a  close  doublet,  a  high- 
crowned  hat,  with  a  brooch,  a  long  thin  beard,  a  truncheon, 
little  ruffs,  white  shoes,  his  scarfs  and  garters  tied  cross,  and 
his  drum  beaten  before  him.  —  The  names  of  his  children,  with 
their  attires :  Miss-Rule,  in  a  velvet  cap,  with  a  sprig,  a  short 
cloak,  great  yellow  ruff,  like  a  reveller ;  his  torch-bearer  bear- 
ing a  rope,  a  cheese,  and  a  basket ;  —  Caroll,  a  long  tawny 
coat,  with  a  red  cap,  and  a  flute  at  his  girdle  ;  his  torch-bearer 
carrying  a  song-book  open ;  —  Minc'd-pie,  like  a  fine  cook's 
wife,  drest  neat,  her  man  carrying  a  pie,  dish,  and  spoons  ;  — 
Gamboll,  like  a  tumbler,  with  a  hoop  and  bells ;  his  torch- 
bearer  arm'd  with  cole-staff,  and  blinding  cloth  ;  —  Post  and 
Pair,  with  a  pair-royal  of  aces  in  his  hat,  his  garment  all  done 
over  with  pairs  and  purs ;  his  squire,  carrying  a  box,  cards, 
and  counters ;  — New-year's  Gift,  in  a  blue  coat,  serving-man 
like,  with  an  orange,  and  a  sprig  of  rosemary  gilt  on  his  head, 
his  hat  full  of  brooches,  with  a  collar  of  gingerbread ;  his 
torch-bearer  carrying  a  march-pain,  with  a  bottle  of  wine  on 
either  arm ;  —  Mumming,  in  a  masquing  pied  suit,  with  a 
visor  ;  his  torch-bearer  carrying  the  box,  and  ringing  it ;  — 
Wassal,  like  a  neat  sempster  and  songster  ;  her  page  bearing  a 
brown  bowl,  drest  with  ribbands,  and  rosemary,  before  her  ;  — 
Offering,  in  a  short  gown,  with  a  porter's  staff  in  his  hand  ;  a 
wyth  borne  before  him,  and  a  bason,  by  his  torch-bearer ; 
—  Baby  Cocke,  drest  like  a  boy,  in  a  fine  long  coat,  biggin,  bib, 
muckender,  and  a  little  dagger ;  his  usher  bearing  a  great 
cake,  with  a  bean  and  a  pease/' 

16 


242  MARMION. 

To  vassal,  tenant,  serf,  and  all ; 

Power  laid  his  rod  of  rule  aside, 

And  Ceremony  doffd  his  pride. 

The  heir,  with  roses  in  his  shoes, 

That  night  might  village  partner  choose ; 

The  Lord,  underogating,  share 

The  vulgar  game  of  "  post  and  pair." 

All  hail'd,  with  uncontroll'd  delight, 

And  general  voice,  the  happy  night, 

That  to  the  cottage,  as  the  crown, 

Brought  tidings  of  salvation  down. 

The  fire,  with  well-dried  logs  supplied, 
"Went  roaring  up  the  chimney  wide ; 
The  huge  hall-table's  oaken  face, 
Scrubb'd  till  it  shone,  the  day  to  grace, 
Bore  then  upon  its  massive  board 
No  mark  to  part  the  squire  and  lord. 
Then  was  brought  in  the  lusty  brawn, 
By  old  blue-coated  serving-man ; 
Then  the  grim  boar's  head  frown'd  on  high, 
Crested  with  bays  and  rosemary. 
Well  can  the  green-garb'd  ranger  tell, 
How,  when,  and  where,  the  monster  fell ; 
What  dogs  before  his  death  he  tore, 
And  all  the  baiting  of  the  boar.1 

1  MS.  —  "  And  all  the  hunting  of  the  boar. 

Then  round  the  merry  wassel  bowl, 
Garnish'd  with  ribbons,  blithe  did  trowl, 
And  the  large  sirloin  steam'd  on  high, 
Plum-porridge,  hare,  and  savoury  pie." 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   SIXTH.        243 

The  wassel  round,  in  good  brown  bowls, 
Garnish'd  with  ribbons,  blithely  trowls. 
There  the  huge  sirloin  reek'd ;  hard  by 
Plum-porridge  stood,  and  Christmas  pie ; 
Nor  fail'd  old  Scqtland  to  produce, 
At  such  high  tide,  her  savoury  goose. 
Then  came  the  merry  maskers  in, 
And  carols  roar'd  with  blithesome  din ; 
If  unmelodious  was  the  song, 
It  was  a  hearty  note,  and  strong. 
Who  lists  may  in  their  mumming  see 
Traces  of  ancient  mystery ; l 
White  shirts  supplied  the  masquerade, 
And  smutted  cheeks  the  visors  made ; 
But,  0 !  what  maskers,  richly  dight, 
Can  boast  of  bosoms  half  so  light ! 

1  It  seems  certain  that  the  Mummers  of  England,  who  (in 
Northumberland  at  least)  used  to  go  about  in  disguise  to  the 
neighbouring  houses,  bearing  the  then  useless  ploughshare 
and  the  Guisards  of  Scotland,  not  yet  in  total  disuse,  present, 
in  some  indistinct  degree,  a  shadow  of  the  old  mysteries,  which 
were  the  origin  of  the  English  drama.  In  Scotland  (me  ipso 
teste),  we  were  wont,  during  my  boyhood,  to  take  the  charac- 
ters of  the  apostles,  at  least  of  Peter,  Paul,  and  Judas  Iscariot ; 
the  first  had  the  keys,  the  second  carried  a  sword,  and  the 
last  the  bag,  in  which  the  dole  of  our  neighbours'  plum-cake 
was  deposited.  One  played  a  champion,  and  recited  some 
traditional  rhymes  ;  another  was 

.  .  .  "Alexander,  King  of  Macedon, 

Who  conquer'd  all  the  world  but  Scotland  alone ; 
When  he  came  to  Scotland  his  courage  grew  cold, 
To  see  a  little  nation  courageous  and  bold." 

These,  and  many  such  verses,  were  repeated,  but  by  rote,  and 


244  MARMION. 

England  was  merry  England,  when 
Old  Christmas  brought  his  sports  again. 
'Twas  Christmas  broach'd  the  mightiest  ale ; 
'Twas  Christmas  told  the  merriest  tale ; 
A  Christmas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 
The  poor  man's  heart  through  half  the  year. 

Still  linger,  in  our  northern  clime, 
Some  remnants  of  the  good  old  time ; 
And  still  within  our  valleys  here, 
We  hold  the  kindred  title  dear, 
Even  when,  perchance,  its  far-fetch'd  claim 
To  Southron  ear  sounds  empty  name ; 
For  course  of  blood,  our  proverbs  deem, 
Is  warmer  than  the  mountain-stream.1 

unconnectedly.  There  was  also,  occasionally,  I  believe,  a 
Saint  George.  In  all,  there  was  a  confused  resemblance  of 
the  ancient  mysteries,  in  which  the  characters  of  Scripture, 
the  Nine  Worthies,  and  other  popular  personages,  were  usu- 
ally exhibited.  It  were  much  to  be  wished  that  the  Chester 
Mysteries  were  published  from  the  MS.  in  the  Museum,  with 
the  annotations  which  a  diligent  investigator  of  popular  an- 
tiquities might  still  supply.  The  late  acute  and  valuable 
antiquary,  Mr.  Ritson,  showed  me  several  memoranda  toward 
such  a  task,  which  are  probably  now  dispersed  or  lost.  See, 
however,  his  Remarks  on  Shakespeare,  1783,  p.  38. 

Since  the  first  edition  of  Marmion  appeared,  this  subject 
has  received  much  elucidation  from  the  learned  and  exten- 
sive labours  of  Mr.  Douce ;  and  the  Chester  Mysteries  [edited 
by  J.  H.  Markland,  Esq.]  have  been  printed  in  a  style  of  great 
elegance  and  accuracy  (in  1818),  by  Bensley  &  Sons,  London, 
for  the  Roxburghe  Club.  1830. 

lu  Blood  is  warmer  than  water," — a  proverb  meant  to 
vindicate  our  family  predilections. 


INTRODUCTION   TO   CANTO   SIXTH.       245 

And  thus,  my  Christmas  still  I  hold 
Where  my  great-grandsire  came  of  old, 
With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair,1 
And  reverend  apostolic  air  — 
The  feast  and  holy-tide  to  share, 
And  mix  sobriety  with  wine, 
And  honest  mirth  with  thoughts  divine: 
Small  thought  was  his,  in  after  time 
E'er  to  be  hitch'd  into  a  rhyme. 
The  simple  sire  could  only  boast, 
That  he  was  loyal  to  his  cost ; 
The  banish'd  race  of  kings  revered, 
And  lost  his  land,  —  but  kept  his  beard. 

In  these  dear  halls,  where  welcome  kind  2 
Is  with  fair  liberty  combined ; 
Where  cordial  friendship  gives  the  hand, 
And  flies  constraint  the  magic  wand 
Of  the  fair  dame  that  rules  the  land.3 
Little  we  heed  the  tempest  drear, 
While  music,  mirth,  and  social  cheer, 
Speed  on  their  wings  the  passing  year. 
And  Mertoun's  halls  are  fair  e'en  now, 
When  not  a  leaf  is  on  the  bough. 
Tweed  loves  them  well,  and  turns  again, 
As  loath  to  leave  the  sweet  domain, 

1See  Appendix,  Note  O. 

a MS.  —  "In  these  fair  halls,  with  merry  cheer, 
Is  bid  farewell  the  dying  year." 

*  See  Introduction  to  the  Minstrelsy,  vol.  iv. 


246  MARMION. 

And  holds  his  mirror  to  her  face, 
And  clips  her  with  a  close  embrace :  — 
Gladly  as  he,  we  seek  the  dome, 
And  as  reluctant  turn  us  home. 


How  just  that,  at  this  time  of  glee, 
My  thoughts  should,  Heber,  turn  to  thee ! 
For  many  a  merry  hour  we've  known, 
And  heard  the  chimes  of  midnight's  tone.1 
Cease,  then,  my  friend !  a  moment  cease, 
And  leave  these  classic  tomes  in  peace ! 
Of  Eoman  and  of  Grecian  lore, 
Sure  mortal  brain  can  hold  no  more. 
These  ancients,  as  Noll  Bluff  might  say, 
Were  pretty  fellows  in  their  day ; 2 
But  time  and  tide  o'er  all  prevail  — 
On  Christmas  eve  a  Christmas  tale  — 
Of  wonder  and  of  war  —  "  Profane ! 
What !  leave  the  lofty  Latian  strain, 
Her  stately  prose,  her  verse's  charms, 
To  hear  the  clash  of  rusty  arms  : 
In  Fairy  Land  or  Limbo  lost, 
To  jostle  conjurer  and  ghost, 
Goblin  and  witch  ! "  —  Nay,  Heber  dear, 
Before  you  touch  my  charter,  hear ; 
Though  Leyden  aids,  alas !  no  more, 

1  The  MS.  adds  : 

"  As  boasts  old  Shallow  to  Sir  John." 

2  Hannibal  was  a  pretty  fellow,  sir  —  a  very  pretty  fellow  in 
his  day.  —  Old  Bachelor. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  SIXTH.       247 

My  cause  with  many-languaged  lore,1 

This  may  I  say : — in  realms  of  death 

Ulysses  meets  Alcides'  wraith  ; 

./Eneas,  upon  Thracia's  shore, 

The  ghost  of  murder'd  Polydore ; 

For  omens,  we  in  Ldvy  cross, 

At  every  turn,  locutus  Bos. 

As  grave  and  duly  speaks  that  ox, 

As  if  he  told  the  price  of  stocks ; 

Or  held,  in  Rome  republican, 

The  place  of  Common-councilman. 

All  nations  have  their  omens  drear, 
Their  legends  wild  of  woe  and  fear. 
To  Cambria  look  —  the  peasant  see, 
Bethink  him  of  Glendowerdy, 
And  shun  "the  spirit's  Blasted  Tree."2 

1  MS.  —  "  With  all  his  many-languaged  lore." 

John  Leyden,  M.D.,  who  had  been  of  great  service  to  Sir 
Walter  Scott  in  the  preparation  of  the  Border  Minstrelsy,  sailed 
for  India  in  April,  1803,  and  died  at  Java  in  August,  1811, 
before  completing  his  thirty-sixth  year. 

'  Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more  1 
His  brief  and  bright  career  is  o'er, 

And  mute  his  tuneful  strains ; 
Quench'd  is  his  lamp  of  varied  lore, 
That  loved  the  light  of  song  to  pour : 
A  distant  and  a  deadly  shore 
Has  Ley  den's  cold  remains  ! " 

—  Lord  of  the  Isles,  Canto  iv. 

See  a  notice  of  his  life  in  the  Author's  Miscellaneous  Prose 
Works. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  P. 


248  MARMION. 

The  Highlander,  whose  red  claymore 
The  battle  turn'd  on  Maida's  shore, 
Will,  on  a  Friday  morn,  look  pale, 
If  ask'd  to  tell  a  fairy  tale : l 
He  fears  the  vengeful  Elfin  King, 
Who  leaves  that  day  his  grassy  ring: 
Invisible  to  human  ken, 
He  walks  among  the  sons  of  men. 

Did'st  e'er,  dear  Heber,  pass  along2 
Beneath  the  towers  of  Franche'mont, 
Which,  like  an  eagle's  nest  in  air, 
Hang  o'er  the  stream  and  hamlet  fair  ? 8 
Deep  in  their  vaults,  the  peasants  say, 
A  mighty  treasure  buried  lay, 

aThe  Daoine  shi"1,  or  Men  of  Peace,  of  the  Scottish  High- 
landers, rather  resemble  the  Scandinavian  Duergar,  than  the 
English  Fairies.  Notwithstanding  their  name,  they  are,  if  not 
absolutely  malevolent,  at  least  peevish,  discontented,  and  apt 
to  do  mischief  on  slight  provocation.  The  belief  of  their  exist- 
ence is  deeply  impressed  on  the  Highlanders,  who  think  they 
are  particularly  offended  at  mortals,  who  talk  of  them,  who 
wear  their  favourite  colour  green,  or  in  any  respect  interfere 
with  their  affairs.  This  is  especially  to  be  avoided  on  Friday, 
when,  whether  as  dedicated  to  Venus,  with  whom,  in  Germany, 
this  subterraneous  people  are  held  nearly  connected,  or  for  a 
more  solemn  reason,  they  are  more  active,  and  possessed  of 
greater  power.  Some  curious  particulars  concerning  the 
popular  superstitions  of  the  Highlanders  may  be  found  in 
Doctor  Graham's  Picturesque  Sketches  of  Perthshire. 

2  This  paragraph  appears  interpolated  on  the  blank  page  of 
the  MS. 

8  MS.  —  "  Which,  high  in  air,  like  eagle's  nest, 

Hang  from  the  dizzy  mountain's  breast." 


INTRODUCTION  TO   CANTO   SIXTH.        249 

Amass'd  through  rapine  and  through  wrong 

By  the  last  Lord  of  Franche'mont.1 

The  iron  chest  is  bolted  hard, 

A  huntsman  sits,  its  constant  guard ; 

Around  his  neck  his  horn  is  hung, 

His  hanger  in  his  belt  is  slung ; 

Before  his  feet  his  bloodhounds  lie : 

An  'twere  not  for  his  gloomy  eye, 


lrThe  journal  of  the  friend,  to  whom  the  Fourth  Canto  of 
the  poem  is  inscribed,  furnished  me  with  the  following  account 
of  a  striking  superstition  : 

"Passed  the  pretty  little  village  of  Franche'mont  (near 
Spaw),  with  the  romantic  ruins  of  the  old  castle  of  the  counts 
of  that  name.  The  road  leads  through  many  delightful  vales, 
on  a  rising  ground ;  at  the  extremity  of  one  of  them  stands 
the  ancient  castle,  now  the  subject  of  many  superstitious 
legends.  It  is  firmly  believed  by  the  neighbouring  peasantry 
that  the  last  Baron  of  Franche'mont  deposited,  in  one  of  the 
vaults  of  the  castle,  a  ponderous  chest,  containing  an  immense 
treasure  in  gold  and  silver,  which,  by  some  magic  spell,  was 
intrusted  to  the  care  of  the  devil,  who  is  constantly  found 
sitting  on  the  chest  in  the  shape  of  a  huntsman.  Any  one 
adventurous  enough  to  touch  the  chest  is  instantly  seized  with 
the  palsy.  Upon  one  occasion,  a  priest  of  noted  piety  was 
brought  to  the  vault.  He  used  all  the  arts  of  exorcism  to  per- 
suade his  infernal  majesty  to  vacate  his  seat,  but  in  vain  ;  the 
huntsman  remained  immovable.  At  last,  moved  by  the  earnest- 
ness of  the  priest,  he  told  him  that  he  would  agree  to  resign  the 
chest  if  the  exerciser  would  sign  his  name  with  blood.  But  the 
priest  understood  his  meaning,  and  refused,  as  by  that  act  he 
would  have  delivered  over  his  soul  to  the  devil.  Yet  if  any- 
body can  discover  the  mystic  words  used  by  the  person  who 
deposited  the  treasure,  and  pronounce  them,  the  fiend  must 
instantly  decamp.  I  had  many  stories  of  a  similar  nature 
from  a  peasant,  who  had  himself  seen  the  devil,  in  the  shape 
of  a  great  cat." 


250  MARMION. 

Whose  withering  glance  no  heart  can  brook, 

As  true  a  huntsman  doth  he  look, 

As  bugle  e'er  in  brake  did  sound, 

Or  ever  hollow'd  to  a  hound. 

To  chase  the  fiend,  and  win  the  prize, 

In  that  same  dungeon  ever  tries 

An  aged  Necromantic  Priest ; 

It  is  an  hundred  years  at  least, 

Since  'twixt  them  first  the  strife  begun, 

And  neither  yet  has  lost  nor  won. 

And  oft  the  Conjurer's  words  will  make 

The  stubborn  Demon  groan  and  quake ; 

And  oft  the  bands  of  iron  break, 

Or  bursts  one  lock,  that  still  amain, 

Fast  as  'tis  open'd,  shuts  again. 

That  magic  strife  within  the  tomb 

May  last  until  the  day  of  doom, 

Unless  the  Adept  shall  learn  to  tell 

The  very  word  that  clench'd  the  spell, 

When  Franch'mont  lock'd  the  treasure  cell 

An  hundred  years  are  pass'd  and  gone, 

And  scarce  three  letters  has  he  won. 

Such  general  superstition  may 
Excuse  for  old  Pitscottie  say, 
Whose  gossip  history  has  given 
My  song  the  messenger  from  Heaven,1 
That  warn'd,  in  Lithgow,  Scotland's  King, 
Nor  less  the  infernal  summoning ; 2 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

aThe  four  lines  which  follow  are  not  in  the  MS. 


INTRODUCTION   TO  CANTO  SIXTH.       251 

May  pass  the  Monk  of  Durham's  tale, 
Whose  Demon  fought  in  Gothic  mail ; 
May  pardon  plead  for  Fordun  grave, 
Who  told  of  Gifford's  Goblin-Cave. 
But  why  such  instances  to  you, 
Who,  in  an  instant,  can  renew 
Your  treasured  hoards  of  various  lore, 
And  furnish  twenty  thousand  more  ? 
Hoards,  not  like  theirs  whose  volumes  rest 
Like  treasures  in  the  Franch'mont  chest, 
While  gripple  owners  still  refuse 
To  others  what  they  cannot  use ; 
Give  them  the  priest's  whole  century, 
They  shall  not  spell  you  letters  three ; 
Their  pleasure  in  the  books  the  same 
The  magpie  takes  in  pilfer'd  gem. 
Thy  volumes,  open  as  thy  heart, 
Delight,  amusement,  science,  art, 
To  every  ear  and  eye  impart ; 
Yet  who,  of  all  who  thus  employ  them, 
Can  like  the  owner's  self  enjoy  them  ?  — 
But,  hark !  I  hear  the  distant  drum ! 
The  day  of  Flodden  Field  is  come.  — 
Adieu,  dear  Heber !  life  and  health, 
And  store  of  literary  wealth. 


MARMION. 

CANTO  SIXTH. 
THE   BATTLE. 


WHILE  great  events  were  on  the  gale, 
And  each  hour  brought  a  varying  tale, 
And  the  demeanour,  changed  and  cold, 
Of  Douglas,  fretted  Marmion  bold, 
And,  like  the  impatient  steed  of  war, 
He  snufifd  the  battle  from  afar ; 
And  hopes  were  none,  that  back  again 
Herald  should  come  from  Terouenne, 
Where  England's  King  in  leaguer  lay, 
Before  decisive  battle-day ; 
Whilst  these  things  were,  the  mournful  Clare 
Did  in  the  Dame's  devotions  share : 
For  the  good  Countess  ceaseless  pray*d 
To  Heaven  and  Saints,  her  sons  to  aid, 
And,  with  short  interval,  did  pass 
From  prayer  to  book,  from  book  to  mass, 
And  all  in  high  Baronial  pride,  — 
A  lif e  both  dull  and  dignified ;  — 
Yet  as  Lord  Marmion  nothing  press'd 
253 


254  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

Upon  her  intervals  of  rest, 

Dejected  Clara  well  could  bear 

The  formal  state,  the  lengthen'd  prayer, 

Though  dearest  to  her  wounded  heart 

The  hours  that  she  might  spend  apart. 

II. 

I  said,  Tantallon's  dizzy  steep 

Hung  o'er  the  margin  of  the  deep. 

Many  a  rude  tower  and  rampart  there 

Eepell'd  the  insult  of  the  air, 

Which,  when  the  tempest  vex'd  the  sky, 

Half  breeze,  half  spray,  came  whistling  by. 

Above  the  rest,  a  turret  square 

Did  o'er  its  Gothic  entrance  bear, 

Of  sculpture  rude,  a  stony  shield ; 

The  Bloody  Heart  was  in  the  Field, 

And  in  the  chief  three  mullets  stood, 

The  cognisance  of  Douglas  blood. 

The  turret  held  a  narrow  stair,1 

Which,  mounted,  gave  you  access  where 

A  parapet's  embattled  row 

Did  seaward  round  the  castle  go. 

Sometimes  in  dizzy  steps  descending, 

Sometimes  in  narrow  circuit  bending, 

Sometimes  in  platform  broad  extending, 

Its  varying  circle  did  combine 

Bulwark,  and  bartisan,  and  line, 

And  bastion,  tower,  and  vantage-coign ; 

1  MS.  —  "  The  tower  contained  a  narrow  stair, 
And  gave  an  open  access  where." 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  255 

Above  the  booming  ocean  leant 

The  far-projecting  battlement ; 

The  billows  burst,  in  ceaseless  flow, 

Upon  the  precipice  below. 

Where'er  Tantallon  faced  the  land, 

Gate-works,  and  walls,  were  strongly  mann'd ; 

No  need  upon  the  sea-girt  side ; 

The  steepy  rock,  and  frantic  tide, 

Approach  of  human  step  denied; 

And  thus  these  lines,  and  ramparts  rude, 

Were  left  in  deepest  solitude. 

m. 

And,  for  they  were  so  lonely,  Clare 
Would  to  these  battlements  repair, 
And  muse  upon  her  sorrows  there, 

And  list  the  sea-bird's  cry ; 
Or  slow,  like  noontide  ghost,  would  glide 
Along  the  dark-gray  bulwarks'  side, 
And  ever  on  the  heaving  tide 

Look  down  with  weary  eye. 
Oft  did  the  cliff,  and  swelling  main, 
Recall  the  thoughts  of  Whitby's  fane, — 
A  home  she  ne'er  might  see  again ; 

For  she  had  laid  adown, 
So  Douglas  bade,  the  hood  and  veil, 
And  frontlet  of  the  cloister  pale, 

And  Benedictine  gown : 
It  were  unseemly  sight,  he  said, 
A  novice  out  of  convent  shade.  — 
Now  her  bright  locks,  with  sunny  glow, 


256  MARMIOK  Canto  VI. 

Again  adorn'd  her  brow  of  snow ; 
Her  mantle  rich,  whose  borders,  round, 
A  deep  and  fretted  broidery  bound, 
In  golden  foldings  sought  the  ground ; 
Of  holy  ornament,  alone 
Eemain'd  a  cross  with  ruby  stone ; 

And  often  did  she  look 
On  that  which  in  her  hand  she  bore, 
With  velvet  bound,  and  broider'd  o'er, 

Her  breviary  book. 
In  such  a  place,  so  lone,  so  grim, 
At  dawning  pale,  or  twilight  dim 

It  fearful  would  have  been 
To  meet  a  form  so  richly  dress'd,1 
With  book  in  hand,  and  cross  on  breast, 

And  such  a  woful  mien. 
Fitz-Eustace,  loitering  with  his  bow, 
To  practise  on  the  gull  and  crow, 
Saw  her,  at  distance,  gliding  slow, 

And  did  by  Mary  swear,  — 
Some  love-lorn  Fay  she  might  have  been, 
Or,  in  Komance,  some  spellbound  Queen ; 
For  ne'er,  in  work-day  world,  was  seen 

A  form  so  witching  fair.2 

IV. 

Once  walking  thus,  at  evening  tide, 
It  chanced  a  gliding  sail  she  spied, 

1  MS.  —  "To  meet  a  form  so  /air,  and  dress'd 

In  antique  robes,  with  cross  on  breast." 
a  MS.  —  "A  form  so  sad  and  fair." 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  257 

And,  sighing,  thought  —  "  The  Abbess,  there, 

Perchance,  does  to  her  home  repair ; 

Her  peaceful  rule,  where  Duty,  free, 

Walks  hand  in  hand  with  Charity ; 

Where  oft  Devotion's  tranced  glow 

Can  such  a  glimpse  of  heaven  bestow, 

That  the  enraptured  sisters  see 

High  vision,  and  deep  mystery ; 

The  very  form  of  Hilda  fair, 

Hovering  upon  the  sunny  air, 

And  smiling  on  her  votaries'  prayer.1 

O !  wherefore,  to  my  duller  eye, 

Did  still  the  Saint  her  form  deny ! 

Was  it,  that,  sear'd  by  sinful  scorn, 


1 1  shall  only  produce  one  instance  more  of  the  great  ven- 
eration paid  to  Lady  Hilda,  which  still  prevails  even  in  these 
our  days  ;  and  that  is,  the  constant  opinion  that  she  rendered, 
and  still  renders,  herself  visible,  on  some  occasions,  in  the  Ab- 
bey of  Streanshalh,  or  Whitby,  where  she  so  long  resided.  At 
a  particular  time  of  the  year  (viz.  in  the  summer  months),  at 
ten  or  eleven  in  the  forenoon,  the  sunbeams  fall  in  the  inside 
of  the  northern  part  of  the  choir ;  and  'tis  then  that  the  spec- 
tators, who  stand  on  the  west  side  of  Whitby  churchyard, 
so  as  just  to  see  the  most  northerly  part  of  the  abbey  pass  the 
north  end  of  Whitby  church,  imagine  they  perceive,  in  one 
of  the  highest  windows  there,  the  resemblance  of  a  woman, 
arrayed  in  a  shroud.  Though  we  are  certain  this  is  only  a, 
reflection  caused  by  the  splendour  of  the  sunbeams,  yet  fame 
reports  it,  and  it  is  constantly  believed  among  the  vulgar  to  be  an 
appearance  of  Lady  Hilda  in  her  shroud,  or,  rather,  in  a  glori- 
fied state  ;  before  which,  I  make  no  doubt,  the  papists,  even  in 
these  our  days,  offer  up  their  prayers  with  as  much  zeal  and 
devotion  as  before  any  other  image  of  their  most  glorified 
saint."  —  Charlton's  History  of  Whitby,  p.  33. 

17 


258  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

My  heart  could  neither  melt  nor  burn  ? 

Or  lie  my  warm  affections  low, 

With  him,  that  taught  them  first  to  glow  ? 

Yet,  gentle  Abhess,  well  I  knew, 

To  pay  thy  kindness  grateful  due, 

And  well  could  brook  the  mild  command, 

That  ruled  thy  simple  maiden  band. 

How  different  now !  condemn'd  to  bide 

My  doom  from  this  dark  tyrant's  pride.  — 

But  Marmion  has  to  learn,  ere  long, 

That  constant  mind,  and  hate  of  wrong, 

Descended  to  a  feeble  girl, 

From  Eed  De  Clare,  stout  Gloster's  Earl : 

Of  such  a  stem,  a  sapling  weak,1 

He  ne'er  shall  bend,  although  he  break. 


"  But  see !  —  what  makes  this  armour  here  ?  "  — 

For  in  her  path  there  lay 
Targe,  corslet,  helm ;  —  she  view'd  them  near.  — 

"  The  breastplate  pierced !  —  Ay,  much  I  fear, 
Weak  fence  wert  thou  'gainst  foeman's  spear, 
That  hath  made  fatal  entrance  here, 
As  these  dark  blood-gouts  say.  — 
Thus  Wilton !  — Oh !  not  corslet's  ward, 
Not  truth,  as  diamond  pure  and  hard, 
Could  be  thy  manly  bosom's  guard, 

1  MS.  —  "  Of  such  a  stem,  or  branch,  j     OUg    [•  weak, 

(      so      ) 

He  ne'er  shall  bend  me,  though  he  break." 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  259 

On  yon  disastrous  day  ! "  — 
She  raised  her  eyes  in  mournful  mood,  — 
Wilton  himself  before  her  stood ! 
It  might  have  seem'd  his  passing  ghost, 
For  every  youthful  grace  was  lost ; 
And  joy  unwonted,  and  surprise, 
Gave  their  strange  wildness  to  his  eyes.  — 
Expect  not,  noble  dames  and  lords, 
That  I  can  tell  such  scene  in  words : 
What  skilful  limner  e'er  would  choose 
To  paint  the  rainbow's  varying  hues, 
Unless  to  mortal  it  were  given 
To  dip  his  brush  in  dyes  of  heaven  ? 
Far  less  can  my  weak  line  declare 

Each  changing  passion's  shade ; 
Brightening  to  rapture  from  despair, 
Sorrow,  surprise,  and  pity  there, 
And  joy,  with  her  angelic  air, 
And  hope,  that  paints  the  future  fair, 

Their  varying  hues  displayed : 
Each  o'er  its  rival's  ground  extending, 
Alternate  conquering,  shifting,  blending, 
Till  all,  fatigued,  the  conflict  yield, 
And  mighty  Love  retains  the  field. 
Shortly  I  tell  what  then  he  said, 
By  many  a  tender  word  delayed,1 
And  modest  blush,  and  bursting  sigh, 
And  question  kind,  and  fond  reply :  — 

1  MS. —  "  By  many  a  short  caress  delay 'd." 


26o  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

VI. 

DE  WILTON'S  HISTORY/* 
"  Forget  we  that  disastrous  day, 
When  senseless  in  the  lists  I  lay. 

Thence  dragg'd,  —  but  how  I  cannot  know, 
For  sense  and  recollection  fled,  — 

I  found  me  on  a  pallet  low, 

Within  my  ancient  beadsman's  shed.2 

Austin,  —  remember'st  thou,  my  Clare, 
How  thou  didst  blush,  when  the  old  man, 
When  first  our  infant  love  began, 

Said  we  would  make  a  matchless  pair  ?  — 
Menials,  and  friends,  and  kinsmen  fled 
From  the  degraded  traitor's  bed, 3  — 
He  only  held  my  burning  head, 
And  tended  me  for  many  a  day, 
While  wounds  and  fever  held  their  sway. 
But  far  more  needful  was  his  care, 
When  sense  return'd  to  wake  despair ; 

For  I  did  tear  the  closing  wound, 

And  dash  me  frantic  on  the  ground, 
If  e'er  I  heard  the  name  of  Clare. 

1When  the  surprise  at  meeting  a  lover  rescued  from  the 
dead  is  considered,  the  above  picture  will  not  be  thought  over- 
charged with  colouring ;  and  yet  the  painter  is  so  fatigued  with 
his  exertion,  that  he  has  finally  thrown  away  the  brush,  and  is 
contented  with  merely  chalking  out  the  intervening  adventures 
of  De  Wilton,  without  bestowing  on  them  any  colours  at  all. 
—  Critical  Review. 

2 MS.  —  "  Where  an  old  beadsman  held  my  head." 

« 218.  —  »  The  banish'd  traitor's  \  humble  I  bed." 

I lowly     y 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  261 

At  length,  to  calmer  reason  brought, 
Much  by  his  kind  attendance  wrought, 

With  him  I  left  my  native  strand, 
And,  in  a  Palmer's  weeds  array'd, 
My  hated  name  and  form  to  shade, 

I  journey'd  many  a  land ; 
No  more  a  lord  of  rank  and  birth, 
But  mingled  with  the  dregs  of  earth. 

Oft  Austin  for  my  reason  fear'd, 
When  I  would  sit,  and  deeply  brood 
On  dark  revenge,  and  deeds  of  blood, 

Or  wild  mad  schemes  uprear'd. 
My  friend  at  length  fell  sick,  and  said, 

God  would  remove  him  soon : 
And,  while  upon  his  dying  bed, 

He  begg*d  of  me  a  boon  — 
If  e'er  my  deadliest  enemy 
Beneath  my  brand  should  conquer'd  lie, 
Even  then  my  mercy  should  awake, 
And  spare  his  life  for  Austin's  sake. 

VII. 

"  Still  restless  as  a  second  Cain, 
To  Scotland  next  my  route  was  ta'en, 

Full  well  the  paths  I  knew. 
Fame  of  my  fate  made  various  sound, 
That  death  in  pilgrimage  I  found, 
That  I  had  perish'd  of  my  wound, — 

None  cared  which  tale  was  true : 
And  living  eye  could  never  guess 
De  Wilton  in  his  Palmer's  dress ; 


262  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

For  now  that  sable  slough  is  shed, 

And  trimm'd  my  shaggy  beard  and  head, 

I  scarcely  know  me  in  the  glass. 

A  chance  most  wondrous  did  provide, 

That  I  should  be  that  Baron's  guide  — 

I  will  not  name  his  name !  — 
Vengeance  to  God  alone  belongs ; 
But,  when  I  think  on  all  my  wrongs, 

My  blood  is  liquid  flame  ! 
And  ne'er  the  time  shall  I  forget, 
When,  in  a  Scottish  hostel  set, 

Dark  looks  we  did  exchange : 
What  were  his  thoughts  I  cannot  tell ; 
But  in  my  bosom  muster'd  Hell 

Its  plans  of  dark  revenge. 

VIII. 

"  A  word  of  vulgar  augury, 
That  broke  from  me,  I  scarce  knew  why, 

Brought  on  a  village  tale ; 
Which  wrought  upon  his  moody  sprite, 
And  sent  him  armed  forth  by  night. 

I  borrow'd  steed  and  mail, 
And  weapons,  from  his  sleeping  band ; 

And,  passing  from  a  postern  door, 
We  met,  and  'counter'd,  hand  to  hand,  — 

He  fell  on  Gifford-moor. 
For  the  death-stroke  my  brand  I  drew, 
(0  then  my  helmed  head  he  knew, 

The  Palmer's  cowl  was  gone,) 
Then  had  three  inches  of  my  blade 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  263 

The  heavy  debt  of  vengeance  paid, — 
My  hand  the  thought  of  Austin  staid;1 
I  left  him  there  alone.  — 

0  good  old  man !  even  from  the  grave, 
Thy  spirit  could  thy  master  save : 

If  I  had  slain  my  foeman,  ne'er 
Had  Whitby's  Abbess,  in  her  fear, 
Given  to  my  hand  this  packet  dear, 
Of  power  to  clear  my  injured  fame, 
And  vindicate  De  Wilton's  name.  — 
Perchance  you  heard  the  Abbess  tell 
Of  the  strange  pageantry  of  Hell, 

That  broke  our  secret  speech  — 
It  rose  from  the  infernal  shade, 
Or  featly  was  some  juggle  play'd, 

A  tale  of  peace  to  teach. 
Appeal  to  Heaven  I  judged  was  best, 
When  my  name  came  among  the  rest. 

IX. 

a  Now  here,  within  Tantallon  Hold, 
To  Douglas  late  my  tale  I  told, 
To  whom  my  house  was  known  of  old. 
Won  by  my  proofs,  his  falchion  bright 
This  eve  anew  shall  dub  me  knight. 
These  were  the  arms  that  once  did  turn 
The  tide  of  fight  on  Otterburne, 

1  MS.  —  "  But  thought  of  Austin  staid  my  hand, 

And  in  the  sheath  I  plunged  the  brand ; 

I  left  him  there  alone.  — 
O  good  old  man  !  even  from  the  grave, 
Thy  spirit  could  De  Wilton  save." 


264  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

And  Harry  Hotspur  forced  to  yield, 
When  the  Dead  Douglas  won  the  field.1 
These  Angus  gave  —  his  armourer's  care, 
Ere  morn,  shall  every  breach  repair ; 
For  nought,  he  said,  was  in  his  halls, 
But  ancient  armour  on  the  walls, 
And  aged  chargers  in  the  stalls, 
And  women,  priests,  and  gray-hair'd  men ; 
The  rest  were  all  in  Twisel  glen.2 
And  now  I  watch  my  armour  here, 
By  law  of  arms,  till  midnight's  near ; 
Then,  once  again  a  belted  knight, 
Seek  Surrey's  camp  with  dawn  of  light. 

X. 

*'  There  soon  again  we  meet,  my  Clare ! 
This  Baron  means  to  guide  thee  there : 
Douglas  reveres  his  King's  command, 
Else  would  he  take  thee  from  his  band. 
And  there  thy  kinsman,  Surrey,  too, 
Will  give  De  Wilton  justice  due. 
Now  meeter  far  for  martial  broil, 
Firmer  my  limbs,  and  strung  by  toil, 
Once  more  "  —  "0  Wilton !  must  we  then 
Risk  new-found  happiness  again, 
Trust  fate  of  arms  once  more  ? 

JSee  the  ballad  of  Otterbourne,  in  the  Border  Minstrelsy, 
vol.  i. 

2  Where  James  encamped  before  taking  post  on  Flodden. 
The  MS.  has  — 

"The  rest  were  all  on  Flodden. plain.'1'1 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  265 

And  is  there  not  an  humble  glen, 

Where  we,  content  and  poor, 
Might  build  a  cottage  in  the  shade, 
A  shepherd  thou,  and  I  to  aid 

Thy  task  on  dale  and  moor  ?  — 
That  reddening  brow !  —  too  well  I  know, 
Not  even  thy  Clare  can  peace  bestow, 

While  falsehood  stains  thy  name : 
Go  then  to  fight !     Clare  bids  thee  go ! 
Clare  can  a  warrior's  feelings  know, 

And  weep  a  warrior's  shame ; 
Can  Red  Earl  Gilbert's  spirit  feel, 
Buckle  the  spurs  upon  thy  heel, 
And  belt  thee  with  thy  brand  of  steel, 

And  send  thee  forth  to  fame ! " 

XI. 

That  night,  upon  the  rocks  and  bay, 

The  midnight  moonbeam  slumbering  lay, 
And  pour'd  its  silver  light,  and  pure, 
Through  loophole,  and  through  embrasure, 

Upon  Tantallon  tower  and  hall ; 
But  chief  where  arched  windows  wide 
Illuminate  the  chapel's  pride, 

The  sober  glances  fall 

Much  was  there  need ;  though  seam'd  with  scare, 
Two  veterans  of  the  Douglas'  wars, 

Though  two  gray  priests  were  there, 
And  each  a  blazing  torch  held  high, 
You  could  not  by  their  blaze  descry l 

1  MS.  —  "  You  might  not  by  their  shine  descry." 


266  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

The  chapel's  carving  fair. 
Amid  that  dim  and  smoky  light, 
Chequering  the  silvery  moonshine  bright, 

A  bishop  by  the  altar  stood,1 

A  noble  lord  of  Douglas  blood, 
With  mitre  sheen,  and  rocquet  white. 
Yet  show'd  his  meek  and  thoughtful  eye 
But  little  pride  of  prelacy ; 
More  pleased  that,  in  a  barbarous  age, 
He  gave  rude  Scotland  Virgil's  page, 
Than  that  beneath  his  rule  he  held 
The  bishopric  of  fair  Dunkeld. 
Beside  him  ancient  Angus  stood, 
Doff d  his  furr'd  gown,  and  sable  hood : 
O'er  his  huge  form  and  visage  pale, 
He  wore  a  cap  and  shirt  of  mail ; 
And  lean'd  his  large  and  wrinkled  hand 
Upon  the  huge  and  sweeping  brand 
Which  wont  of  yore,  in  battle  fray, 
His  foeman's  limbs  to  shred  away, 
As  wood-knife  lops  the  sapling  spray.2 

1  The  well-known  Gawain  Douglas,  Bishop  of  Dunkeld,  son 
of  Archibald  Bell-the-Cat,  Earl  of  Angus.  He  was  author  of 
a  Scottish  metrical  version  of  the  dSneid,  and  of  many  other 
poetical  pieces  of  great  merit.  He  had  not  at  this  period 
attained  the  mitre. 

2  Angus  had  strength  and  personal  activity  corresponding  to 
his  courage.  Spens  of  Kilspindie,  a  favourite  of  James  IV., 
having  spoken  of  him  lightly,  the  earl  met  him  while  hawking, 
and,  compelling  him  to  single  combat,  at  one  blow  cut  asunder 
his  thigh-bone,  and  killed  him  on  the  spot.  But  ere  he  could 
obtain  James's  pardon  for  this  slaughter,  Angus  was  obliged  to 
yield  his  castle  of  Hermitage,  in  exchange  for  that  of  Both  well, 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  *  267 

He  seem'd  as,  from  the  tombs  around 

Rising  at  judgment-day, 
Some  giant  Douglas  may  be  found 

In  all  his  old  array ; 
So  pale  his  face,  so  huge  his  limb, 
So  old  his  arms,  his  look  so  grim. 

XII. 

Then  at  the  altar  Wilton  kneels, 
And  Clare  the  spurs  bound  on  his  heels ; 
And  think  what  next  he  must  have  felt, 
At  buckling  of  the  falchion  belt ! 

And  judge  how  Clara  changed  her  hue, 
While  fastening  to  her  lover's  side 
A  friend,  which,  though  in  danger  tried, 

He  once  had  found  untrue ! 
Then  Douglas  struck  him  with  his  blade : 
"  Saint  Michael  and  Saint  Andrew  aid, 

I  dub  thee  knight. 
Arise,  Sir  Ralph,  De  Wilton's  heir ! 
For  King,  for  Church,  for  Lady  fair, 

See  that  thou  fight."  — 1 
And  Bishop  Gawain,  as  he  rose, 

which  was  some  diminution  to  the  family  greatness.  The 
sword  with  which  he  struck  so  remarkable  a  blow  was  pre- 
sented by  his  descendant,  James,  Earl  of  Morton,  afterward 
Regent  of  Scotland,  to  Lord  Lindesay  of  the  Byres,  when  he 
defied  Bothwell  to  single  combat  on  Cajberry-hill.  See  Intro- 
duction to  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border. 

1The  following  (five  lines)  are  a  sort  of  mongrel  between 
the  school  of  Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  and  the  later  one  of  Mr. 
"Wordsworth.  —  Jeffrey. 


268  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

Said  —  "  Wilton !  grieve  not  for  thy  woes, 

Disgrace,  and  trouble ; 
For  He,  who  honour  best  bestows, 

May  give  thee  double."  — 
De  Wilton  sobb'd,  for  sob  he  must  — 
"  Where'er  I  meet  a  Douglas,  trust 

That  Douglas  is  my  brother ! "  — 
"  Nay,  nay,"  old  Angus  said,  "  not  so  ; 
To  Surrey's  camp  thou  now  must  go, 

Thy  wrongs  no  longer  smother. 
I  have  two  sons  in  yonder  field ; 
And,  if  thou  meet'st  them  under  shield, 
Upon  them  bravely  —  do  thy  worst ; 
And  foul  fall  him  that  blenches  first ! " 

XIII. 

Not  far  advanced  was  morning  day, 
When  Marmion  did  his  troop  array 

To  Surrey's  camp  to  ride ; 
He  had  safe  conduct  for  his  band, 
Beneath  the  royal  seal  and  hand, 

And  Douglas  gave  a  guide : 
The  ancient  Earl,  with  stately  grace, 
Would  Clara  on  her  palfrey  place, 
And  whisper'd  in  an  under  tone, 
"  Let  the  hawk  stoop,  his  prey  is  flown."  — 
The  train  from  out  the  castle  drew,1 
But  Marmion  st6pp'd  to  bid  adieu  :  — 
"  Though  something  I  might  plain,"  he  said, 

1  MS.  —  "  The  train  the  portal  arch  pass'd  through." 


Canto  VI.  THE  BATTLE.  269 

"  Of  cold  respect  to  stranger  guest, 

Sent  hither  by  your  King's  behest, 
While  in  Tantallon's  towers  I  staid ; 

Part  we  in  friendship  from  your  land, 

And,  noble  Earl,  receive  my  hand."  — 

But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak, 

Folded  his  arms,  and  thus  he  spoke :  — 
"  My  manors,  halls,  and  bowers,  shall  still 

Be  open,  at  my  Sovereign's  will, 

To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 

Unmeet  to  be  the  owner's  peer.1 

My  castles  are  my  King's  alone, 

From  turret  to  foundation-stone  — 

The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own ; 

And  never  shall  in  friendly  grasp 

The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp."  — 

XIV. 

Burn'd  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire, 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire, 

And  —  "  This  to  me ! "  he  said,  — 
"An  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head  ! 
And,  first,  I  tell  thee,  haughty  Peer, 
He,  who  does  England's  message  here, 
Although  the  meanest  in  her  state, 
May  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate : 
And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here, 

1  MS.  —  "  Unmeet  they  be  to  harbour  here." 


270  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

Even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride, 
Here  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near, 
(Nay,  never  look  upon  your  lord, 
And  lay  your  hands  upon  your  sword,) 

I  tell  thee,  thou'rt  defied ! 
And  if  thou  said'st,  I  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, 
Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near, 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied  !  "  —  * 
On  the  Earl's  cheek  the  flush  of  rage 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age : 
Fierce  he  broke  forth,  —  "  And  darest  thou  then 
To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den, 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall  ? 
And  hopest  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ?  — 
No,  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no  ! 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms  —  what,  Warder,  ho ! 

Let  the  portcullis  fall."  —  z 

1  MS.  —  "  False  Douglas,  thou  hast  lied." 

2  This  ebullition  of  violence  in  the  potent  Earl  of  Angus  is 
not  without  its  example  in  the  real  history  of  the  house  of 
Douglas,   whose  chieftains  possessed  the  ferocity,  with  the 
heroic  virtues,  of  a  savage  state.     The  most  curious  instance 
occurred  in  the  case  of  Maclellan,  Tutor  of  Bombay,  who,  hav- 
ing refused  to  acknowledge  the  preeminence  claimed  by  Doug- 
las over  the  gentlemen  and  Barons  of  Galloway,  was  seized  and 
imprisoned  by  the  earl,  in  his  castle  of  the  Thrieve,  on  the 
borders  of  Kirkcudbrightshire.     Sir  Patrick  Gray,  commander 
of  King  James  the  Second's  guard,  was  uncle  to  the  Tutor  of 
Bombay,  and  obtained  from  the  king  a  "  sweet  letter  of  suppli- 
cation," praying  the  earl  to  deliver  his  prisoner  into  Gray's 
hand.    When  Sir  Patrick  arrived  at  the  castle,  he  was  received 
with  all  the  honour  due  to  a  favourite  servant  of  the  king's 
household ;  but  while  he  was  at  dinner,  the  earl,  who  sus- 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  271 

Lord  Marmion  turn'd,  —  well  was  his  need. 
And  dash'd  the  rowels  in  his  steed, 
Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung, 
The  ponderous  grate  behind  him  rung : 
To  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room, 
The  bars,  descending,  rased  his  plume. 

XV. 

The  steed  along  the  drawbridge  flies, 
Just  as  it  trembled  on  the  rise ; 
Nor  lighter  does  the  swallow  skim 
Along  the  smooth  lake's  level  brim : 
And  when  Lord  Marmion  reach'd  his  band, 
He  halts,  and  turns  with  clenched  hand, 
And  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours, 

pected  his  errand,  caused  his  prisoner  to  be  led  forth  and  be- 
headed. After  dinner,  Sir  Patrick  presented  the  king's  letter 
to  the  earl,  who  received  it  with  great  affectation  of  reverence  ; 
"and  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  forth  to  the  green, 
where  the  gentleman  was  lying  dead,  and  showed  him  the 
manner,  and  said,  '  Sir  Patrick,  you  are  come  a  little  too  late  ; 
yonder  is  your  sister's  son  lying,  but  he  wants  the  head  :  take 
his  body,  and  do  with  it  what  you  will.'  Sir  Patrick  answered 
again,  with  a  sore  heart,  and  said,  '  My  lord,  if  ye  have  taken 
from  him  his  head,  dispone  upon  the  body  as  ye  please  ; '  and 
with  that  called  for  his  horse,  and  leaped  thereon  ;  and  when 
he  was  on  horseback,  he  said  to  the  earl  on  this  manner,  '  My 
lord,  if  I  live,  you  shall  be  rewarded  for  your  labours,  that  you 
have  used  at  this  time,  according  to  your  demerits.' 

"At  this  saying  the  earl  was  highly  offended,  and  cried  for 
horse.  Sir  Patrick,  seeing  the  earl's  fury,  spurred  his  horse, 
but  he  was  chased  near  Edinburgh  ere  they  left  him  ;  and  had 
It  not  been  his  led  horse  was  so  tried  and  good,  he  had  been 
taken."  —  Pitscottie's  History,  p.  39. 


272  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

And  shook  his  gauntlet  at  the  towers. 
"  Horse  !  horse ! "  the  Douglas  cried,  "  and  chase ! n 

But  soon  he  rein'd  his  fury's  pace : 
"  A  royal  messenger  he  came, 

Though  most  unworthy  of  the  name.  — 

A  letter  forged !  Saint  Jude  to  speed ! 

Did  ever  knight  so  foul  a  deed ! 1 

At  first  in  heart  it  liked  me  ill, 

When  the  King  praised  his  clerkly  skill 

Thanks  to  Saint  Bothan,  son  of  mine,2 

Save  Gawain,  ne'er  could  pen  a  line  : 

So  swore  I,  and  I  swear  it  still, 

Let  my  boy-bishop  fret  his  fill.  — 

Saint  Mary  mend  my  fiery  mood ! 

Old  age  ne'er  cools  the  Douglas  blood, 

I  thought  to  slay  him  where  he  stood. 

Tis  pity  of  him  too,"  he  cried : 
"  Bold  can  he  speak,  and  fairly  ride, 

I  warrant  him  a  warrior  tried." 

1  Lest  the  reader  should  partake  of  the  earl's  astonishment, 
and  consider  the  crime  as  inconsistent  with  the  manners  of  the 
period,  I  have  to  remind  him  of  the  numerous  forgeries  (partly 
executed  by  a  female  assistant)  devised  by  Kobert  of  Artois,  to 
forward  his  suit  against  the  Countess  Matilda;  which,  being 
detected,  occasioned  his  flight  into  England,  and  proved  the 
remote  cause  of  Edward  the  Third's  memorable  wars  in  France. 
John  Harding,  also,  was  expressly  hired  by  Edward  IV.  to 
forge  such  documents  as  might  appear  to  establish  the  claim  of 
fealty  asserted  over  Scotland  by  the  English  monarchs. 

*M8.  —  "  Thanks  to  Saint  Bothan,  son  of  mine 
Could  never  pen  a  written  line, 
So  swear  I,  and  I  swear  it  still, 
Let  brother  Gawain  fret  his  fill." 


Canto  VI.  THE  BATTLE.  273 

With  this  his  mandate  he  recalls, 
And  slowly  seeks  his  castle  halls. 

XVI. 

The  day  in  Marmion's  journey  wore ; 

Yet,  ere  his  passion's  gust  was  o'er, 

They  cross'd  the  heights  of  Stanrig-moor. 

His  troop  more  closely  there  he  scann'd, 

And  miss'd  the  Palmer  from  the  band.  — 
u  Palmer  or  not,"  young  Blount  did  say, 
"  He  parted  at  the  peep  of  day ; 

Good  sooth,  it  was  in  strange  array."  — 
"  In  what  array  ? "  said  Marmion,  quick. 
"  My  Lord,  I  ill  can  spell  the  trick ; 

But  all  night  long,  with  clink  and  bang, 

Close  to  my  couch  did  hammers  clang ; 

At  dawn  the  falling  drawbridge  rang, 

And  from  a  loophole  while  I  peep, 

Old  Bell-the-Cat  came  from  the  Keep, 

Wrapp'd  in  a  gown  of  sables  fair, 

As  fearful  of  the  morning  air ; 

Beneath,  when  that  was  blown  aside, 

A  rusty  shirt  of  mail  I  spied, 

By  Archibald  won  in  bloody  work, 

Against  the  Saracen  and  Turk : 

Last  night  it  hung  not  in  the  hall ; 

I  thought  some  marvel  would  befall 

And  next  I  saw  them  saddled  lead 

Old  Cheviot  forth,  the  Earl's  best  steed ; 

A  matchless  horse,  though  something  old, 

Prompt  in  his  paces,  cool  and  bold. 


274  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

I  heard  the  Sheriff  Sholto  say, 

The  Earl  did  much  the  Master 1  pray 

To  use  him  on  the  battle-day ; 

But  he  preferr'd  "  —  "  Nay,  Henry,  cease ! 

Thou  sworn  horse-courser,  hold  thy  peace.  — 

Eustace,  thou  bear'st  a  brain  —  I  pray, 

What  did  Blount  see  at  break  of  day  ? "  — 

XVII. 

"  In  brief,  my  lord,  we  both  descried 
(For  then  I  stood  by  Henry's  side) 
The  Palmer  mount,  and  outwards  ride, 

Upon  the  Earl's  own  favourite  steed : 
All  sheathed  he  was  in  armour  bright, 
And  much  resembled  that  same  knight, 
Subdued  by  you  in  Cotswold  fight : 

Lord  Angus  wish'd  him  speed."  — 
The  instant  that  Fitz-Eustace  spoke, 
A  sudden  light  on  Marmion  broke ;  — 
"  Ah !  dastard  fool,  to  reason  lost ! " 
He  mutter'd ;  "  'Twas  nor  fay  nor  ghost 
I  met  upon  the  moonlight  wold, 
But  living  man  of  earthly  mould.  — 

0  dotage  blind  and  gross ! 
Had  I  but  fought  as  wont,  one  thrust 
Had  laid  De  Wilton  in  the  dust, 

My  path  no  more  to  cross.  — 
How  stand  we  now  ?  —  he  told  his  tale 
To  Douglas ;  and  with  some  avail ; 

1  His  eldest  son,  the  Master  of  Angus. 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  275 

'Twas  therefore  gloom'd  his  rugged  brow.  — 
Will  Surrey  dare  to  entertain, 
'Gainst  Marmion,  charge  disproved  and  vain  ? 

Small  risk  of  that,  I  trow. 
Yet  Clare's  sharp  questions  must  I  shun ; 
Must  separate  Constance  from  the  Nun  — 
O,  what  a  tangled  web  we  weave, 
When  first  we  practise  to  deceive  ! 
A  Palmer  too  !  —  no  wonder  why 
I  felt  rebuked  beneath  his  eye : 
I  might  have  known  there  was  but  one, 
Whose  look  could  quell  Lord  Marmion." 

XVIII. 

Stung  with  these  thoughts,  he  urged  to  speed 
His  troop,  and  reach'd,  at  eve,  the  Tweed, 
Where  Lennel's  convent 1  closed  their  march ; 
(There  now  is  left  but  one  frail  arch, 

Yet  mourn  thou  not  its  cells ; 
Our  time  a  fair  exchange  has  made ; 
Hard  by,  in  hospitable  shade, 

A  reverend  pilgrim  dwells, 
Well  worth  the  whole  Bernardino  brood, 
That  e'er  wore  sandal,  frock,  or  hood.) 
Yet  did  Saint  Bernard's  Abbot  there 

1This  was  a  Cistertian  house  of  religion,  now  almost  en- 
tirely demolished.  Lennel  House  is  now  the  residence  of  my 
venerable  friend,  Patrick  Brydone,  Esquire,  so  well  known  in 
the  literary  world.2  It  is  situated  near  Coldstream,  almost 
opposite  to  Cornhill,  and  consequently  very  near  to  Flodden 
Field. 

»  First  Edition.  —  Mr.  Brydone  h  as  b  een  many  years  dead.    1825. 


276  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

Give  Marmion  entertainment  fair, 
And  lodging  for  Ms  train  and  Clare.1 
Next  morn  the  Baron  climb'd  the  tower, 
To  view  afar  the  Scottish  power, 

Encamp'd  on  Flodden  edge : 
The  white  pavilions  made  a  show, 
Like  remnants  of  the  winter  snow, 

Along  the  dusky  ridge. 
Long  Marmion  look'd :  —  at  length  his  eye 
Unusual  movement  might  descry 

Amid  the  shifting  lines : 
The  Scottish  host  drawn  out  appears, 
For,  flashing  on  the  hedge  of  spears 

The  eastern  sunbeam  shines. 
Their  front  now  deepening,  now  extending ; 
Their  flank  inclining,  wheeling,  bending, 
Now  drawing  back,  and  now  descending, 
The  skilful  Marmion  well  could  know, 
They  watch'd  the  motions  of  some  foe, 
Who  traversed  on  the  plain  below. 

XIX. 

Even  so  it  was.     From  Flodden  ridge 
The  Scots  beheld  the  English  host 
Leave  Barmore-wood,  their  evening  post, 
And  heedful  watch'd  them  as  they  cross'd 

1From  this  period  to  the  conclusion  of  the  poem,  Mr. 
Scott's  genius,  so  long  overclouded,  bursts  forth  in  full  lustre, 
and  even  transcends  itself.  It  is  impossible  to  do  him  justice 
by  making  extracts,  when  all  is  equally  attractive.  —  Monthly 
Review. 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  277 

The  Till  by  Twisel  Bridge.1 

High  sight  it  is,  and  haughty,  while 

They  dive  into  the  deep  defile ; 

Beneath  the  cavern'd  cliff  they  fall, 

Beneath  the  castle's  airy  walL 
By  rock,  hy  oak,  by  hawthorn-tree, 

Troop  after  troop  are  disappearing ; 

1  On  the  evening  previous  to  the  memorable  battle  of  Flod- 
den,  Surrey's  headquarters  were  at  Bannoor  Wood,  and  King 
James  held  an  inaccessible  position  on  the  ridge  of  Flodden- 
hill,  one  of  the  last  and  lowest  eminences  detached  from  the 
ridge  of  Cheviot.  The  Till,  a  deep  and  slow  river,  winded 
between  the  armies.  On  the  morning  of  the  9th  September, 
1513,  Surrey  marched  in  a  northwesterly  direction,  and  crossed 
the  Till,  with  his  van  and  artillery,  at  Twisel-bridge,  nigh 
where  that  river  joins  the  Tweed,  his  rear-guard  column  pass- 
ing about  a  mile  higher,  by  a  ford.  This  movement  had  the 
double  effect  of  placing  his  army  between  King  James  and  his 
supplies  from  Scotland,  and  of  striking  the  Scottish  monarch 
with  surprise,  as  he  seems  to  have  relied  on  the  depth  of  the 
river  in  his  front.  But  as  the  passage,  both  over  the  bridge  and 
through  the  ford,  was  difficult  and  slow,  it  seems  possible  that 
the  English  might  have  been  attacked  to  great  advantage  while 
struggling  with  these  natural  obstacles.  I  know  not  if  we  are 
to  impute  James's  forbearance  to  want  of  military  skill,  or  to 
the  romantic  declaration  which  Pitscottie  puts  in  his  mouth, 
"  that  he  was  determined  to  have  his  enemies  before  him  on  a 
plain  field,"  and  therefore  would  suffer  no  interruption  to  be 
given,  even  by  artillery,  to  their  passing  the  river. 

The  ancient  bridge  of  Twisel,  by  which  the  English  crossed 
the  Till,  is  still  standing  beneath  Twisel  Castle,  a  splendid  pile 
of  Gothic  architecture,  as  now  rebuilt  by  Sir  Francis  Blake, 
Bart.,  whose  extensive  plantations  have  so  much  improved  the 
country  around.  The  glen  is  romantic  and  delightful,  with 
steep  banks  on  each  side,  covered  with  copse,  particularly  with 
hawthorn.  Beneath  a  tall  rock,  near  the  bridge,  is  a  plentiful 
fountain,  called  St.  Helen's  Well. 


2jB  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

Troop  after  troop  their  banners  rearing, 
Upon  the  eastern  bank  you  see. 
Still  pouring  down  the  rocky  den, 

Where  flows  the  sullen  Till, 
And  rising  from  the  dim-wood  glen, 
Standards  on  standards,  men  on  men, 

In  slow  succession  still, 
And,  sweeping  o'er  the  Gothic  arch, 
And  pressing  on,  in  ceaseless  march, 

To  gain  the  opposing  hilL 
That  morn,  to  many  a  trumpet  clang, 
Twisel !  thy  rock's  deep  echo  rang ; 
And  many  a  chief  of  birth  and  rank, 
Saint  Helen !  at  thy  fountain  drank. 
Thy  hawthorn  glade,  which  now  we  see 
In  springtide  bloom  so  lavishly, 
Had  then  from  many  an  axe  its  doom, 
To  give  the  marching  columns  room. 

XX. 

And  why  stands  Scotland  idly  now, 
Dark  Flodden !  on  thy  airy  brow, 
Since  England  gains  the  pass  the  while, 
And  struggles  through  the  deep  defile  ? 
What  checks  the  fiery  soul  of  James  ? 
Why  sits  that  champion  of  the  dames 

Inactive  on  his  steed, 
And  sees,  between  him  and  his  land, 
Between  him  and  Tweed's  southern  strand, 

His  host  Lord  Surrey  lead  ? 
What  'vails  the  vain  knight-errant's  brand  ? 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  279 

—  0,  Douglas,  for  thy  leading  wand ! 
Fierce  Bandolph,  for  thy  speed ! 

0  for  one  hour  of  Wallace  wight, 

Or  well-skill'd  Bruce,  to  rule  the  fight, 
And  cry  —  "  Saint  Andrew  and  our  right !" 
Another  sight  had  seen  that  morn, 
From  Fate's  dark  book  a  leaf  been  torn, 
And  Flodden  had  been  Bannockbourne !  — 
The  precious  hour  has  pass'd  in  vain, 
And  England's  host  has  gain'd  the  plain ; 
Wheeling  their  march,  and  circling  still, 
Around  the  base  of  Flodden  hilL 

XXI. 

Ere  yet  the  bands  met  Marmion's  eye, l 
Fitz-Eustace  shouted  loud  and  high, 
"  Hark !  hark !  my  lord,  an  English  drum ! 
And  see  ascending  squadrons  come 

Between  Tweed's  river  and  the  hill, 
Foot,  horse,  and  cannon :  —  hap  what  hap, 
My  basnet  to  a  prentice  cap, 

Lord  Surrey's  o'er  the  Till !  — 
Yet  more  !  yet  more  !  —  how  far  array'd  1 
They  file  from  out  the  hawthorn  shade, 

And  sweep  so  gallant  by ! 2 
With  all  their  banners  bravely  spread, 

And  all  their  armour  flashing  high, 
Saint  George  might  waken  from  the  dead, 

To  see  fair  England's  standards  fly."  — 

1  MS.  —  "  Ere  first  they  met  Lord  Marmion's  eye.'* 
3  MS.  —  "  And  all  go  sweeping  by." 


280  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

"  Stint  in  thy  prate,"  quoth  Blount,  "  thou'dst  best, 
And  listen  to  our  lord's  behest."  — l 
With  kindling  brow  Lord  Marmion  said,  — 

"  This  instant  be  our  band  array'd ; 
The  river  must  be  quickly  cross'd, 
That  we  may  join  Lord  Surrey's  host. 
If  fight  King  James,  —  as  well  I  trust, 
That  fight  he  will,  and  fight  he  must,  — 
The  Lady  Clare  behind  our  lines 
Shall  tarry,  while  the  battle  joins." 

XXII. 

flimself  he  swift  on  horseback  threw, 
Scarce  to  the  Abbot  bade  adieu ; 
Far  less  would  listen  to  his  prayer, 
To  leave  behind  the  helpless  Clare. 
Down  to  the  Tweed  his  band  he  drew, 
And  mutter'd  as  the  flood  they  view, 

lrThe  speeches  of  Squire  Blount  are  a  great  deal  too  un- 
polished for  a  noble  youth  aspiring  to  knighthood.  On  two 
occasions,  to  specify  no  more,  he  addresses  his  brother  squire 
in  these  cacophonous  lines  :  — 

"  St.  Anton  fire  thee  I  wilt  thou  stand 
All  day  with  bonnet  in  thy  hand ;  " 
And  — 

"  '  Stint  in  thy  prate,'  quoth  Blount,  '  thou'dst  be&, 
And  listen  to  our  lord's  behest.'  " 

Neither  can  we  be  brought  to  admire  the  simple  dignity  of  Sir 
Hugh  the  Heron,  who  thus  encourageth  his  nephew  : 

"  '  By  my  fay, 

Well  hast  thou  spoke  —  say  forth  thy  say.'  " 

—  Jeffrey. 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  281 

"  The  pheasant  in  the  falcon's  claw, 
He  scarce  will  yield  to  please  a  daw.: 
Lord  Angus  may  the  Abbot  awe, 

So  Clare  shall  bide  with  me." 
Then  on  that  dangerous  ford,  and  deep, 
Where  to  the  Tweed  Leafs  eddies  creep,1 

He  ventured  desperately : 
And  not  a  moment  will  he  bide, 
Till  squire,  or  groom,  before  him  ride ; 
Headmost  of  all  he  stems  the  tide, 

And  stems  it  gallantly. 
Eustace  held  Clare  upon  her  horse, 

Old  Hubert  led  her  rein, 
Stoutly  they  braved  the  current's  course, 
And,  though  far  downward  driven  per  force, 

The  southern  bank  they  gain ; 
Behind  them  straggling,  came  to  shore, 

As  best  they  might,  the  train : 
Each  o'er  his  head  his  yew-bow  bore, 

A  caution  not  in  vain ; 
Deep  need  that  day  that  every  string, 
By  wet  unharm'd,  should  sharply  ring. 
A  moment  then  Lord  Marmion  staid, 
And  breathed  his  steed,  his  men  array'd, 

Then  forward  moved  his  band, 
Until,  Lord  Surrey's  rear-guard  won, 
He  halted  by  a  Cross  of  Stone, 
That,  on  a  hillock  standing  lone, 

Did  all  the  field  command. 

1  MS.  —  "  Where  to  the  Tweed  Leafs  tributes  creep." 


282  MARMION.  Canto  VL. 

XXIII. 

Hence  might  they  see  the  full  array 

Of  either  host,  for  deadly  fray ; 1 

Their  marshall'd  lines  stretch'd  east  and  west,2 

And  fronted  north  and  south, 
And  distant  salutation  pass'd 

From  the  loud  cannon  mouth ; 
Not  in  the  close  successive  rattle, 
That  breathes  the  voice  of  modern  battle, 

But  slow  and  far  between.  — 
The  hillock  gain'd,  Lord  Marmion  staid  : 
"  Here,  by  this  Cross,"  he  gently  said, 
"  You  well  may  view  the  scene. 
Here  shalt  thou  tarry,  lovely  Clare : 
Oh  !  think  of  Marmion  in  thy  prayer  !  — 
Thou  wilt  not  ?  —  well,  —  no  less  my  care 
Shall,  watchful,  for  thy  weal  prepare.  — 
You,  Blount  and  Eustace,  are  her  guard, 

With  ten  pick'd  archers  of  my  train ; 
With  England  if  the  day  go  hard, 

To  Berwick  speed  amain.  — 
But  if  we  conquer,  cruel  maid, 
My  spoils  shall  at  your  feet  be  laid, 

When  here  we  meet  again." 
He  waited  not  for  answer  there, 
And  would  not  mark  the  maid's  despair,8 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  Q. 

2  MS.  —  "  Their  lines  were  formed,  stretch'd  east  and  west." 

8  MS.  —  "  Nor  mark'd  the  lady's  deep  despair, 
Nor  heeded  discontented  look." 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  283 

Nor  heed  the  discontented  look 
From  either  squire ;  but  spurr'd  amain, 
And,  dashing  through  the  battle-plain, 

His  way  to  Surrey  took. 

XXIV. 

"  —  The  good  Lord  Marmion,  by  my  life ! 

Welcome  to  danger's  hour !  — 
Short  greeting  serves  in  time  of  strife :  — 

Thus  have  I  ranged  my  power : 
Myself  will  rule  this  central  host, 
Stout  Stanley  fronts  their  right, 
My  sons  command  the  vaward  post, 

With  Brian  Tunstall,  stainless  knight ; 1 

Lord  Dacre,  with  his  horsemen  light, 

Shall  be  in  rear- ward  of  the  fight, 
And  succour  those  that  need  it  most. 

Now,  gallant  Marmion,  well  I  know, 

Would  gladly  to  the  vanguard  go ; 
Edmund,  the  Admiral,  Tunstall  there, 
With  thee  their  charge  will  blithely  share ; 
There  fight  thine  own  retainers  too, 

1  Sir  Brian  Tunstall,  called  in  the  romantic  language  of  the 
time  Tunstall  the  Undented,  was  one  of  the  few  Englishmen  of 
rank  slain  at  Flodden.  He  figures  in  the  ancient  English  poem, 
to  which  I  may  safely  refer  my  readers  ;  as  an  edition,  with 
full  explanatory  notes,  has  been  published  by  my  friend,  Mr. 
Henry  Weber.  Tunstall,  perhaps,  derived  his  epithet  of  unde- 
filed  from  his  white  armour  and  banner,  the  latter  bearing  a 
white  cock,  about  to  crow,  as  well  as  from  his  unstained  loy- 
alty and  knightly  faith.  His  place  of  residence  was  Thurland 
Castle. 


284  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

Beneath  De  Burg,  thy  steward  true."  — 1 
"Thanks,  noble  Surrey  !  "  Marmion  said, 
Nor  farther  greeting  there  he  paid ; 
But,  parting  like  a  thunderbolt, 
First  in  the  vanguard  made  a  halt, 

Where  such  a  shout  there  rose 
Of  "  Marmion !  Marmion  ! "  that  the  cry, 
Up  Flodden  mountain  shrilling  high, 

Startled  the  Scottish  foes. 

XXV. 

Blount  and  Fitz-Eustace  rested  still 
With  Lady  Clare  upon  the  hill ; 
On  which,  (for  far  the  day  was  spent,) 
The  western  sunbeams  now  were  bent. 
The  cry  they  heard,  its  meaning  knew, 
Could  plain  their  distant  comrades  view : 
Sadly  to  Blount  did  Eustace  say, 
"  Unworthy  office  here  to  stay ! 
No  hope  of  gilded  spurs  to-day.  — 
But  see !  look  up  —  on  Flodden  bent 
The  Scottish  foe  has  fired  his  tent." 

And  sudden,  as  he  spoke, 
From  the  sharp  ridges  of  the  hill,2 
All  downward  to  the  banks  of  Till, 

Was  wreathed  in  sable  smoke. 

1  MS.  —  "Beneath  thy  seneschal,  Fitz-Hugh." 

2  Of  all  the  poetical  battles  which  have  been  fought,  from 
the  days  of  Homer  to  those  of  Mr.  Southey,  there  is  none,  in 
our  opinion,  at  all  comparable,  for  interest  and  animation,  — 
for  breadth  of  drawing  and  magnificence  of  effect,  —  with  this 
of  Mr.  Scott's.  —Jeffrey. 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  285 

Volumed  and  fast,  and  rolling  far, 
The  cloud  enveloped  Scotland's  war, 

As  down  the  hill  they  broke ; 
Nor  martial  shout,  nor  minstrel  tone, 
Announced  their  march ;  their  tread  alone, 
At  times  one  warning  trumpet  blown, 

At  times  a  stifled  hum, 
Told  England,  from  his  mountain-throne 

King  James  did  rushing  coma  — 
Scarce  could  they  hear,  or  see  their  foes, 
Until  at  weapon-point  they  close.  — 1 
They  close,  in  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust, 
With  sword-sway,  and  with  lance's  thrust ; 

And  such  a  yell  was  there, 
Of  sudden  and  portentous  birth, 
As  if  men  fought  upon  the  earth, 

And  fiends  in  upper  air ; 2 
O  life  and  death  were  in  the  shout, 
Eecoil  and  rally,  charge  and  rout, 

And  triumph  and  despair. 
Long  look'd  the  anxious  squires ;  their  eye 
Could  in  the  darkness  nought  descry. 

XXVI. 

At  length  the  freshening  western  blast 

Aside  the  shroud  of  battle  cast ; 

And,  first,  the  ridge  of  mingled  spears8 


1  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

8  The  next  three  lines  are  not  in  the  MS. 

8  JtfS.  —  "  And  first  the  broken  ridge  of  spears." 


286  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

Above  the  brightening  cloud  appears ; 
And  in  the  smoke  the  pennons  flew, 
As  in  the  storm  the  white  sea-mew. 
Then  mark'd  they,  dashing  broad  and  far, 
The  broken  billows  of  the  war, 
And  plumed  crests  of  chieftains  brave, 
Floating  like  foam  upon  the  wave ; 

But  naught  distinct  they  see  : 
Wide  raged  the  battle  on  the  plain ; 
Spears  shook,  and  falchions  flash'd  amain ; 
Fell  England's  arrow-flight  like  rain ; 
Crests  rose,  and  stoop'd,  and  rose  again, 

Wild  and  disorderly. 
Amid  the  scene  of  tumult,  high 
They  saw  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  fly : 
And  stainless  Tunstall's  banner  white, 
And  Edmund  Howard's  lion  bright, 
Still  bear  them  bravely  in  the  fight ; 

Although  against  them  come, 
Of  Gallant  Gordons  many  a  one, 
And  many  a  stubborn  Badenoch-man,1 
And  many  a  rugged  Border  clan, 

With  Huntley,  and  with  Home. 

XXVII. 

Far  on  the  left,  unseen  the  while, 
Stanley  broke  Lennox  and  Argyle ; 

1  In  all  former  editions,  Highlandman.  Badenoch  is  the 
correction  of  the  author's  interleaved  copy  of  the  edition  of 
1830. 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  287 

Though  there  the  western  mountaineer1 
Eush'd  with  bare  bosom  on  the  spear, 
And  flung  the  feeble  targe  aside, 
And  with  both  hands  the  broadsword  plied. 
'Twas  vain :  —  But  fortune,  on  the  right, 
With  fickle  smile,  cheer'd  Scotland's  fight. 
Then  fell  that  spotless  banner  white,2 

The  Howard's  lion  fell ; 
Yet  still  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  flew 
With  wavering  flight,  while  fiercer  grew 

Around  the  battle-yelL 
The  Border  slogan  rent  the  sky ! 
A  Home  !  a  Gordon !  was  the  cry : 

Loud  were  the  clanging  blows ; 
Advanced,  —  forced  back,  —  now  low,  now  high, 

The  pennon  sunk  and  rose ; 
As  bends  the  bark's  mast  in  the  gale, 
When  rent  are  rigging,  shrouds,  and  sail, 

It  waver'd  'mid  the  foes. 
No  longer  Blount  the  view  could  bear : 
"  By  Heaven,  and  all  its  saints !  I  swear 

I  will  not  see  it  lost ! 
Fitz-Eustace,  you  with  Lady  Clare8 
May  bid  your  beads,  and  patter  prayer, — 

I  gallop  to  the  host." 
And  to  the  fray  he  rode  amain, 

1  MS.  —  "  Though  there  the  dauntless  mountaineer." 

a  MS.  —  "  Fell  stainless  TunstalVs  banner  white, 
Sir  Edmund's  lion  fell." 

8  MS.  —  "  Fitz-Eustace,  you  and  Lady  Clare 
May  for  its  safety  join  in  prayer." 


288  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

Follow'd  by  all  the  archer  train. 

The  fiery  youth,  with  desperate  charge, 

Made,  for  a  space,  an  opening  large, — 

The  rescued  banner  rose,  — 
But  darkly  closed  the  war  around, 
Like  pine-tree,  rooted  from  the  ground,1 

It  sunk  among  the  foes. 
Then  Eustace  mounted  too :  —  yet  staid, 
As  loath  to  leave  the  helpless  maid, 

When,  fast  as  shaft  can  fly, 
Bloodshot  his  eyes,  his  nostrils  spread, 
The  loose  rein  dangling  from  his  head, 
Housing  and  saddle  bloody  red, 

Lord  Marmion's  steed  rush'd  by ; 
And  Eustace,  maddening  at  the  sight, 

A  look  and  sign  to  Clara  cast, 

To  mark  he  would  return  in  haste,2 
Then  plunged  into  the  fight. 

XXVIII. 

Ask  me  not  what  the  maiden  feels, 
Left  in  that  dreadful  hour  alone : 

Perchance  her  reason  stoops,  or  reels ; 
Perchance  a  courage,  not  her  own, 
Braces  her  mind  to  desperate  tone.  — 

The  scatter'd  van  of  England  wheels;  — 3 


1  MS.  —  "  Like  pine  uprooted  from  the  ground." 
3  MS.  —  And  cried  he  would  return  in  haste. 

«  MS.  —  "  Repulsed  the  band  7    . 

™  ,,    .       >  of  England  wheels." 

The  scatter'd  wing  > 


Canto  VI.  THE  BATTLE.  289 

She  only  said,  as  loud  in  air 

The  tumult  roar'd,  "  Is  Wilton  there  ? "  — 

They  fly,  or,  madden'd  by  despair, 

Fight  but  to  die,  —  "  Is  Wilton  there  ? " 
With  that,  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 

Two  horsemen  drench'd  with  gore, 
And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 

A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 
His  hand  still  strain'd  the  broken  brand ; 
His  arms  were  smear'd  with  blood  and  sand : 
Dragg'd  from  among  the  horses'  feet, 
With  dinted  shield,  and  helmet  beat, 
The  falcon-crest  and  plumage  gone, 
Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion !  .  .  . l 
Young  Blount  his  armour  did  unlace, 
And,  gazing  on  his  ghastly  face, 

Said  —  "  By  Saint  George,  he's  gone ! 
That  spear-wound  has  our  master  sped, 
And  see  the  deep  cut  on  his  head  ! 

Good-night  to  Marmion." 
*  Unnurtured  Blount !  thy  brawling  cease : 
He  opes  his  eyes,"  said  Eustace ;  "  peace ! " 

XXIX. 

When,  doffd  his  casque,  he  felt  free  air,2 
Around  'gan  Marmion  wildly  stare :  — 
"  Where's  Harry  Blount  ?  Fitz-Eustace  where  ? 
Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare ! 

1  MS.  —  "  Can  that  be  \  prO1J    }  Lord  Mannion  1 " 
t  brave  > 

3 MS.  —  "  And  when  he  felt  the  fresher  air." 

19 


290  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

Eedeem  my  pennon,  —  charge  again ! 
Cry  — '  Marmion  to  the  rescue ! '  —  Vain ! 
Last  of  my  race,  on  battle-plain 
That  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again !  — 
Yet  my  last  thought  is  England's  —  fly,1 

To  Dacre  bear  my  signet-ring : 

Tell  him  his  squadrons  up  to  bring.  — 
Fitz-Eustace,  to  Lord  Surrey  hie ; 

Tunstall  lies  dead  upon  the  field, 

His  life-blood  stains  the  spotless  shield : 

Edmund  is  down :  —  my  life  is  reft ; 

The  Admiral  alone  is  left. 

Let  Stanley  charge  with  spur  of  fire, — 

With  Chester  charge,  and  Lancashire, 

Full  upon  Scotland's  central  host,2 

Or  victory  and  England's  lost. — 

Must  I  bid  twice  ?  —  hence,  varlets !  fly ! 

Leave  Marmion  here  alone  —  to  die." 

They  parted,  and  alone  he  lay  ; 

Clare  drew  her  from  the  sight  away, 
Till  pain  wrung  forth  a  lowly  moan, 
And  half  he  murmur'd,  —  "  Is  there  none, 

Of  all  my  halls  have  nurst, 
Page,  squire,  or  groom,  one  cup  to  bring 
Of  blessed  water  from  the  spring, 

To  slake  my  dying  thirst ! " 


1  MS.  —  "  Yet  my  last  thought's  for  England  —  hie, 
To  Dacre  give  my  signet-ring.  .  .  . 
Fitz-Eustace,  to  Lord  Surrey  fly." 

3MS.  —  "Full  on  King  James'  central  host." 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  291 

XXX. 

O,  Woman !  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 
And  variable  as  the  shade 
By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made ; 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou  !  — 
Scarce  were  the  piteous  accents  said, 
When,  with  the  Baron's  casque,  the  maid 

To  the  nigh  streamlet  ran : 
Forgot  were  hatred,  wrongs,  and  fears ; 
The  plaintive  voice  alone  she  hears, 

Sees  but  the  dying  man.1 
She  stoop'd  her  by  the  runnel's  side,2 

1The  hero  of  the  piece,    Marmion,  who  has  been  guilty 
of  seducing  a  nun,  and  abandoning  her  to  be  buried  alive,  of 
forgery  to  ruin  a  friend,  and  of  perfidy  in  endeavouring  to 
seduce  away  from  him  the  object  of  his  tenderest  affections, 
fights  and  dies  gloriously,  and  is  indebted  to  the  injured  Clara 
for  the  last  drop  of  water  to  cool  his  dying  thirst.     This  last 
act  of  disinterested   attention  extorts   from  the  author  the 
smoothest,  sweetest,  and  tenderest  lines  in  the  whole  poem.     It 
is  with  pleasure  that  we  extract  numbers  so  harmonious  from 
the  discords  by  which  they  are  surrounded.  —  Critical  Beview. 
2  MS.  —  "  She  stoop'd  her  by  the  runnel's  tide, 
But  in  abhorrence  soon  withdrew, 
For,  oozing  from  the  mountains  wide 
Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark-red  tide 
Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 
Where  shall  she  turn  !  behold,  she  marks 

A  little  vaulted  cell, 
Whose  water,  clear  as  diamond  sparks, 

In  a  rude  basin  fell. 
Above,  some  half-worn  letters  say, 
Drink,  passing  pilgrim,  drink,  and  pray." 


292  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

But  in  abhorrence  backward  drew ; 
For,  oozing  from  the  mountain's  side, 
Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark-red  tide 

Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 
Where  shall  she  turn !  —  behold  her  mark 

A  little  fountain  cell, 
Where  water,  clear  as  diamond-spark, 

In  a  stone  basin  fell. 
Above,  some  half-worn  letters  say, 
SJrinfe.  inearg.  pilgrim,  fcrink.  anto.  prag. 
jFor.  tfje.  feint),  goal.  at.  Sjjbil.  (Sag. 

SJHfja.  6uilt.  tijfe.  0:020.  ant.  toell. 
She  fill'd  the  helm,  and  back  she  hied, 
And  with  surprise  and  joy  espied 

A  Monk  supporting  Marmion's  head ; 
A  pious  man,  whom  duty  brought 
To  dubious  verge  of  battle  fought, 

To  shrieve  the  dying,  bless  the  dead. 

XXXI. 

Deep  drank  Lord  Marmion  of  the  wave, 
And,  as  she  stoop'd  his  brow  to  lave  — 
"  Is  it  the  hand  of  Clare,"  he  said, 
"  Or  injured  Constance,  bathes  my  head  ? " 

Then,  as  remembrance  rose,  — 
"  Speak  not  to  me  of  shrift  or  prayer ! 

I  must  redress  her  woes. 
Short  space,  few  words,  are  mine  to  spare ; 
Forgive  and  listen,  gentle  Clare ! "  — 

"  Alas ! "  she  said,  "  the  while,  — 
O,  think  of  your  immortal  weal ! 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  293 

In  vain  for  Constance  is  your  zeal ; 

She  -    -  died  at  Holy  Isle."  - 
Lord  Marmion  started  from  the  ground, 
As  light  as  if  he  felt  no  wound ; 
Though  in  the  action  burst  the  tide, 
In  torrents,  from  his  wounded  side. 
« Then  it  was  truth,"  —  he  said  —  "I  knew 
That  the  dark  presage  must  be  true.  — 
I  would  the  Fiend,  to  whom  belongs 
The  vengeance  due  to  all  her  wrongs, 

Would  spare  me  but  a  day ! 
For  wasting  fire,  and  dying  groan,1 
And  priests  slain  on  the  altar  stone, 

Might  bribe  him  for  delay. 
It  may  not  be !  —  this  dizzy  trance  — 
Curse  on  yon  base  marauder's  lance, 
And  doubly  cursed  my  failing  brand ! 
A  sinful  heart  makes  feeble  hand." 
Then,  fainting,  down  on  earth  he  sunk, 
Supported  by  the  trembling  Monk. 

XXXII. 

With  fruitless  labour,  Clara  bound, 
And  strove  to  stanch  the  gushing  wound : 
The  Monk,  with  unavailing  cares, 
Exhausted  all  the  Church's  prayers. 

1  MS.  —  "  Fire,  sacrilege,  and  dying  groan, 

And  priests  gorged  on  the  altar  stone, 
Might  bribe  him  for  delay, 
And  all  by  whom  the  deed  was  done, 
Should  with  thyself  become  his  own, 
It  may  not  be  "  — 


294  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

Ever,  he  said,  that,  close  and  near, 

A  lady's  voice  was  in  his  ear, 

And  that  the  priest  he  could  not  hear ; 

For  that  she  ever  sung, 
"  In  the  lost  battle,  borne  down  ~by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle  with  groans  of  the 
dying  !  " 

So  the  notes  rung ;  — 
"  Avoid  thee,  Fiend  !  —  with  cruel  hand, 
Shake  not  the  dying  sinner's  sand !  — 
O,  look,  my  son,  upon  yon  sign  * 
Of  the  Redeemer's  grace  divine ; 

O,  think  on  faith  and  bliss !  — 
By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been, 
And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen, 

But  never  aught  like  this."  — 
The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail, 
Now  trebly  thundering  swell'd  the  gale, 

And  —  Stanley !  was  the  cry ;  — 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye : 2 
With  dying  hand,  above  his  head, 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  "  Victory  !  — 

1  MS.  —  "  O,  look,  my  son,  upon  this  cross, 
O,  think  upon  the  grace  divine, 

On  saints  and  heavenly  bliss  !  — 
By  many  a  sinner's  bed  I've  been, 
And  many  a  dismal  parting  seen, 
But  never  aught  like  this." 

3  .MS.  —  "  And  sparkled  in  his  eye." 


Canto  VI.  THE  BATTLE.  295 

Charge,  Chester,  charge !  On,  Stanley,  on ! w 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion. 

XXXIII. 

By  this,  though  deep  the  evening  fell, 
Still  rose  the  battle's  deadly  swell, 
For  still  the  Scots,  around  their  King, 
Unbroken,  fought  in  desperate  ring. 
Where's  now  their  victor  vaward  wing, 

Where  Huntley,  and  where  Home  ?  — 
O,  for  a  blast  of  that  dread  horn, 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne, 

That  to  King  Charles  did  come, 
When  Eowland  brave,  and  Olivier, 
And  every  paladin  and  peer, 

On  Eoncesvalles  died ! 
Such  blast  might  warn  them,  not  in  vain, 
To  quit  the  plunder  of  the  slain, 
And  turn  the  doubtful  day  again, 

While  yet  on  Flodden  side, 
Afar,  the  Eoyal  Standard  flies, 
And  round  it  toils,  and  bleeds,  and  dies, 

Our  Caledonian  pride ! 
In  vain  the  wish  —  for  far  away, 
While  spoil  and  havoc  mark  their  way, 
Near  Sybil's  Cross  the  plunderers  stray.  — 
«  O,  Lady,"  cried  the  Monk,  "  away ! " 1 

And  placed  her  on  her  steed, 

1  MS.  —  "In  vain  the  wish  —  for  far  they  stray, 

And  spoil  and  havoc  marked  their  way. 
'  0,  Lady,1  cried  the  Monk,  '  away  ! '  " 


296  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

And  led  her  to  the  chapel  fair, 

Of  Tilmouth  upon  Tweed. 
There  all  the  night  they  spent  in  prayer, 
And  at  the  dawn  of  morning,  there 
She  met  her  kinsman,  Lord  Fitz-Clare. 


XXXIV. 

But  as  they  left  the  dark'ning  heath,1 
More  desperate  grew  the  strife  of  death. 
The  English  shafts  in  volleys  hail'd, 
In  headlong  charge  their  horse  assail'd ; 
Front,  flank,  and  rear,  the  squadrons  sweep 
To  break  the  Scottish  circle  deep, 

That  fought  around  their  King. 
But  yet,  though  thick  the  shafts  as  snow, 
Though  charging  knights  like  whirlwinds  go, 
Though  bill-men  ply  the  ghastly  blow, 

Unbroken  was  the  ring ; 
The  stubborn  spear-men  still  made  good  2 

1  MS.  —  "  But  still  upon  the  darkening  heath." 

2  MS.  —  "  Ever  the  stubborn  spears  made  good 

Their  dark  impenetrable  wood ; 

Each  Scot  stepp'd  where  his  comrade  stood, 

The  instant  that  he  fell, 
Till  the  last  ray  of  parting  light, 
Then  ceased  perforce  the  dreadful  fight, 

And  sunk  the  battle's  yell. 
The  skilful  Surrey's  sage  commands 
Drew  from  the  strife  his  shatter 'd  bands. 

Their  loss  his  foemen  knew  ; 
Their  King,  their  Lords,  their  mightiest  low, 
They  melted  from  the  field  as  snow, 


Canto  VI.  THE    BATTLE.  297 

Their  dark  impenetrable  wood, 

Each  stepping  where  his  comrade  stood, 

The  instant  that  he  fell 
No  thought  was  there  of  dastard  flight ; 
Link'd  in  the  serried  phalanx  tight, 
Groom  fought  like  noble,  squire  like  knight, 

As  fearlessly  and  well ; 
Till  utter  darkness  closed  her  wing 
O'er  then-  thin  host  and  wounded  King. 
Then  skilful  Surrey's  sage  commands 
Led  back  from  strife  his  shatter'd  bands ; 

And  from  the  charge  they  drew, 
As  mountain-waves,  from  wasted  lands, 

Sweep  back  to  ocean  blue. 
Then  did  their  loss  his  foemen  know ; 
Their  King,  their  Lords,  their  mightiest  low, 
They  melted  from  the  field  as  snow, 
When  streams  are  swoln  and  south  winds  blow, 

Dissolves  in  silent  dew. 
Tweed's  echoes  heard  the  ceaseless  plash, 

While  many  a  broken  band, 
Disorder'd,  through  her  currents  dash, 

To  gain  the  Scottish  land ; 
To  town  and  tower,  to  down  and  dale, 


When  streams  are  swoln  and  south  winds  blow, 

Melts  from  the  mountain  blue. 
By  various  march  their  scatter'd  bands, 
Disorder'd,  gain'd  the  Scottish  lands.  — 
Day  dawns  on  Flodden's  dreary  side, 
And  show'd  the  scene  of  carnage  wide  : 
There,  Scotland,  lay  thy  bravest  pride  ! " 


298  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

To  tell  red  Flodden's  dismal  tale, 
And  raise  the  universal  wail.1 
Tradition,  legend,  tune,  and  song, 
Shall  many  an  age  that  wail  prolong : 
Still  from  the  sire  the  son  shall  hear 
Of  the  stern  strife,  and  carnage  drear, 

Of  Flodden's  fatal  field, 
Where  shiver'd  was  fair  Scotland's  spear, 

And  broken  was  her  shield ! 

XXXV. 

Day  dawns  upon  the  mountain's  side : — 2 
There,  Scotland !  lay  thy  bravest  pride, 
Chiefs,  knights,  and  nobles,  many  a  one : 
The  sad  survivors  all  are  gone.  — 
View  not  that  corpse  mistrustfully, 

lrrhe  powerful  poetry  of  these  passages  can  receive  no 
illustration  from  any  praises  or  observations  of  ours.  It  is 
superior,  in  our  apprehension,  to  all  that  this  author  has 
hitherto  produced ;  and,  with  a  few  faults  of  diction,  equal 
to  anything  that  has  ever  been  written  upon  similar  subjects. 
From  the  moment  the  author  gets  in  sight  of  Flodden  field, 
indeed,  to  the  end  of  the  poem,  there  is  no  tame  writing,  and 
no  intervention  of  ordinary  passages.  He  does  not  once  flag 
or  grow  tedious ;  and  neither  stops  to  describe  dresses  and 
ceremonies,  nor  to  commemorate  the  harsh  names  of  feudal 
barons  from  the  Border.  There  is  a  flight  of  five  or  six  hun- 
dred lines,  in  short,  in  which  he  never  stoops  his  wing,  nor 
wavers  in  his  course  ;  but  carries  the  reader  forward  with  a 
more  rapid,  sustained,  and  lofty  movement,  than  any  epic  bard 
that  we  can  at  present  remember.  —  Jeffrey. 

a  "  Day  glimmers  on  the  dying  and  the  dead, 

The  cloven  cuirass,  and  the  helmless  head,"  etc. 

—  Byron's  Lara. 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  299 

Defaced  and  mangled  though  it  be ; 

Nor  to  yon  Border  castle  high, 

Look  northward  with  upbraiding  eye ; 

Nor  cherish  hope  in  vain, 
That,  journeying  far  on  foreign  strand, 
The  Koyal  Pilgrim  to  his  land 

May  yet  return  again. 
He  saw  the  wreck  his  rashness  wrought ; 
Eeckless  of  life,  he  desperate  fought, 

And  fell  on  Flodden  plain : 
And  well  in  death  his  trusty  brand, 
Firm  clench'd  within  his  manly  hand, 
Beseem'd  the  monarch  slain.1 

1  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  King  James  fell  in  the  battle  of 
Flodden.  He  was  killed,  says  the  curious  French  Gazette, 
within  a  lance's  length  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey  ;  and  the  same 
account  adds  that  none  of  his  division  were  made  prisoners, 
though  many  were  killed,  a  circumstance  that  testifies  the  des- 
peration of  their  resistance.  The  Scottish  historians  record 
many  of  the  idle  reports  which  passed  among  the  vulgar  of 
their  day.  Home  was  accused,  by  the  popular  voice,  not  only 
of  failing  to  support  the  king,  but  even  of  having  carried  him 
out  of  the  field  and  murdered  him.  And  this  tale  was  revived 
in  my  remembrance,  by  an  unauthenticated  story  of  a  skeleton, 
wrapped  in  a  bull's  hide,  and  surrounded  with  an  iron  chain, 
said  to  have  been  found  in  the  well  of  Home  Castle  for  which, 
on  inquiry,  I  could  never  find  any  better  authority  than 
the  sexton  of  the  parish  having  said  that,  if  the  well  were 
cleaned  out,  he  would  not  be  surprised  at  such  a  discovery. 
Home  was  the  chamberlain  of  the  king,  and  his  prime  favour- 
ite ;  he  had  much  to  lose  (in  fact  did  lose  all)  in  consequence 
of  James's  death,  and  nothing  earthly  to  gain  by  that  event ; 
but  the  retreat,  or  inactivity,  of  the  left  wing,  which  he  com- 
manded, after  defeating  Sir  Edmund  Howard,  and  even  the 
circumstance  of  his  returning  unhurt,  and  loaded  with  spoil, 


300  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

But,  O  !  how  changed  since  yon  blithe  night !  — 
Gladly  I  turn  me  from  the  sight, 
Unto  my  tale  again. 

XXXVI. 

Short  is  my  tale :  —  Fitz-Eustace'  care 
A  pierced  and  mangled  body  bare 
To  moated  Lichfield's  lofty  pile ; 
And  there,  beneath  the  southern  aisle, 
A  tomb,  with  Gothic  sculpture  fair, 
Did  long  Lord  Marmion's  image  bear, 
(Now  vainly  for  its  sight  you  look ; 
'Twas  levell'd,  when  fanatic  Brook 
The  fair  cathedral  storm'd  and  took ; l 

from  so  fatal  a  conflict,  rendered  the  propagation  of  any  cal- 
umny against  him  easy  and  acceptable.  Other  reports  gave  a 
still  more  romantic  turn  to  the  king's  fate,  and  averred  that 
James,  weary  of  greatness  after  the  carnage  among  his  nobles, 
had  gone  on  a  pilgrimage,  to  merit  absolution  for  the  death  of 
his  father,  and  the  breach  of  his  oath  of  amity  to  Henry.  In 
particular,  it  was  objected  to  the  English  that  they  could  never 
show  the  token  of  the  iron  belt ;  which,  however,  he  was  likely 
enough  to  have  laid  aside  on  the  day  of  battle,  as  encumbering 
his  personal  exertions.  They  produce  a  better  evidence,  the 
monarch's  sword  and  dagger,  which  are  still  preserved  in  the 
Herald's  College  in  London.  Stowe  has  recorded  a  degrading 
story  of  the  disgrace  with  which  the  remains  of  the  unfortunate 
monarch  were  treated  in  his  time.  An  unhewn  column  marks 
the  spot  where  James  fell,  still  called  the  King's  Stone. 

!This  storm  of  Lichfield  cathedral,  which  had  been  garri- 
soned on  the  part  of  the  king,  took  place  in  the  Great  Civil 
War.  Lord  Brook,  who,  with  Sir  John  Gill,  commanded  the 
assailants,  was  shot  with  a  musket-ball  through  the  vizor  of 
his  helmet.  The  royalists  remarked  that  he  was  killed  by  a 
shot  fired  from  St.  Chad's  Cathedral,  and  upon  St.  Chad's  Day, 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  301 

But,  thanks  to  heaven,  and  good  Saint  Chad, 
A  guerdon  meet  the  spoiler  had !) 
There  erst  was  martial  Marmion  found, 
His  feet  upon  a  couchant  hound, 

His  hands  to  heaven  upraised ; 
And  all  around,  on  scutcheon  rich, 
And  tablet  carved,  and  fretted  niche, 

His  arms  and  feats  were  blazed. 
And  yet,  though  all  was  carved  so  fair, 
And  priest  for  Marmion  breathed  the  prayer, 
The  last  Lord  Marmion  lay  not  there. 
From  Ettrick  woods,  a  peasant  swain 
Follow'd  his  lord  to  Flodden  plain,  — 
One  of  those  flowers,  whom  plaintive  lay 
In  Scotland  mourns  as  "  wede  away : " 
Sore  wounded,  Sybil's  Cross  he  spied, 
And  dragg'd  him  to  its  foot,  and  died, 
Close  by  the  noble  Marmion's  side. 
The  spoilers  stripp'd  and  gash'd  the  slain, 
And  thus  their  corpses  were  mista'en ; 
And  thus,  in  the  proud  Baron's  tomb, 
The  lowly  woodsman  took  the  room. 

XXXVII. 

Less  easy  task  it  were,  to  show 

Lord  Marmion's  nameless  grave,  and  low.1 

and  received  his  death-wound  in  the  very  eye  with  which,  he 
had  said,  he  hoped  to  see  the  ruin  of  all  the  cathedrals  in 
England.  The  magnificent  church  in  question  suffered  cruelly 
upon  this,  and  other  occasions,  the  principal  spire  being  ruined 
by  the  fire  of  the  besiegers. 

JA  corpse  is  afterward  conveyed,  as  that  of  Marmion,  to 


302  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

They  dug  his  grave  e'en  where  he  lay,1 
But  every  mark  is  gone ; 

Time's  wasting  hand  has  done  away 

The  simple  Cross  of  Sybil  Grey, 
And  broke  her  font  of  stone : 
But  yet  from  out  the  little  hill 2 
Oozes  the  slender  springlet  still. 

Oft  halts  the  stranger  there, 
For  thence  may  best  his  curious  eye 
The  memorable  field  descry ; 

And  shepherd  boys  repair 
To  seek  the  water-flag  and  rush, 
And  rest  them  by  the  hazel  bush, 

And  plait  their  garlands  fair ; 
Nor  dream  they  sit  upon  the  grave, 
That  holds  the  bones  of  Marmion  brave.  — 
When  thou  shalt  find  the  little  hill,3 
With  thy  heart  commune,  and  be  still 
If  ever,  in  temptation  strong, 
Thou  lef t'st  the  right  path  for  the  wrong ; 
If  every  devious  step,  thus  trod, 

the  Cathedral  of  Lichfield,  where  a  magnificent  tomb  is  erected 
to  his  memory,  and  masses  are  instituted  for  the  repose  of  his 
soul ;  but,  by  an  admirably  imagined  act  of  poetical  justice,  we 
are  informed  that  a  peasant's  body  was  placed  beneath  that 
costly  monument,  while  the  haughty  baron  himself  was  buried 
like  a  vulgar  corpse,  on  the  spot  on  which  he  died.  —  Monthly 
Review. 

1  MS.  —  "  They  dug  his  bed  e'en  where  he  lay." 

2  MS.  —  " But  yet  where  swells  the  little  hill." 

8  M8.  —  "  If  thou  should' st  find  this  little  tomb, 
Beware  to  speak  a  hasty  doom." 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  303 

Still  led  thee  farther  from  the  road ; 
Dread  thou  to  speak  presumptuous  doom 
On  noble  Marmion's  lowly  tomb  ; 
But  say,  "  He  died  a  gallant  knight, 
With  sword  in  hand,  for  England's  right." 

XXXVIIL 

I  do  not  rhyme  to  that  dull  elf, 

Who  cannot  image  to  himself, 

That  all  through  Flodden's  dismal  night, 

Wilton  was  foremost  in  the  fight ; 

That,  when  brave  Surrey's  steed  was  slain, 

'Twas  Wilton  mounted  him  again ; 

Twas  Wilton's  brand  that  deepest  heVd,1 

Amid  the  spearmen's  stubborn  wood : 

Unnamed  by  Holinshed  or  Hall, 

He  was  the  living  soul  of  all ; 

That,  after  fight,  his  faith  made  plain, 

He  won  his  rank  and  lands  again ; 

And  charged  his  old  paternal  shield 

With  bearings  won  on  Flodden  Field. 

Nor  sing  I  to  that  simple  maid, 

To  whom  it  must  in  terms  be  said, 

That  King  and  kinsmen  did  agree, 

To  bless  fair  Clara's  constancy ; 

Who  cannot,  unless  I  relate, 

Paint  to  her  mind  the  bridal's  state ; 

That  Wolsey's  voice  the  blessing  spoke, 

More,  Sands,  and  Denny,  pass'd  the  joke  : 

1  MS.  —  "He  hardest  press'd  the  Scottish  ring  ; 

'Twas  thought  that  he  struck  down  the  King." 


304  MARMION.  Canto  VI.. 

That  bluff  King  Hal  the  curtain  drew, 
And  Catherine's  hand  the  stocking  threw ; 
And  afterwards,  for  many  a  day, 
That  it  was  held  enough  to  say, 
In  blessing  to  a  wedded  pair, 
"  Love  they  like  Wilton  and  like  Clare ! " 


L'ENVOY. 
To  the  Reader. 

WHY  then  a  final  note  prolong, 

Or  lengthen  out  a  closing  song, 

Unless  to  bid  the  gentles  speed, 

Who  long  have  listed  to  my  rede  ? J 

To  Statesmen  grave,  if  such  may  deign 

To  read  the  Minstrel's  idle  strain, 

Sound  head,  clean  hand,  and  piercing  wit, 

And  patriotic  heart  —  as  Pitt ! 

A  garland  for  the  hero's  crest, 

And  twined  by  her  he  loves  the  best ; 

To  every  lovely  lady  bright, 

What  can  I  wish  but  faithful  knight  ? 

To  every  faithful  lover  too, 

What  can  I  wish  but  lady  true  ? 

And  knowledge  to  the  studious  sage ; 

And  pillow  to  the  head  of  age. 

To  thee,  dear  school-boy,  whom  my  lay 

1  Used  generally  for  tale,  or  discourse. 


Canto  VI.  THE   BATTLE.  305 

Has  cheated  of  thy  hour  of  play, 

Light  task,  and  merry  holiday ! 

To  all,  to  each,  a  fair  good-night, 

And  pleasing  dreams,  and  slumbers  light ! 1 


1  We  have  dwelt  longer  on  the  beauties  and  defects  of  this 
poem  than,  we  are  afraid,  will  be  agreeable  either  to  the  partial 
or  the  indifferent ;  not  only  because  we  look  upon  it  as  a  mis- 
application, in  some  degree,  of  very  extraordinary  talents,  but 
because  we  cannot  help  considering  it  as  the  foundation  of  a 
new  school,  which  may  hereafter  occasion  no  little  annoyance 
both  to  us  and  to  the  public.  Mr.  Scott  has  hitherto  filled  the 
whole  stage  himself  ;  and  the  very  splendour  of  his  success  has 
probably  operated  as  yet,  rather  to  deter,  than  to  encourage, 
the  herd  of  rivals  and  imitators  ;  but  if,  by  the  help  of  the  good 
parts  of  his  poem,  he  succeeds  in  suborning  the  verdict  of  the 
public  in  favour  of  the  bad  parts  also,  and  establishes  an  indis- 
criminate taste  for  chivalrous  legends  and  romances  in  irregular 
rhyme,  he  may  depend  upon  having  as  many  copyists  as  Mrs. 
Radcliffe,  or  Schiller,  and  upon  becoming  the  founder  of  a  new 
schism  in  the  catholic  poetical  church,  for  which,  in  spite  of 
all  our  exertions,  there  will  probably  be  no  cure,  but  in  the 
extravagance  of  the  last  and  lowest  of  its  followers.  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  we  conceive  it  to  be  our  duty  to  make  one  strong 
effort  to  bring  back  the  great  apostle  of  the  heresy  to  the  whole- 
some creed  of  his  instructors,  and  to  stop  the  insurrection 
before  it  becomes  desperate  and  senseless,  by  persuading  the 
leader  to  return  to  his  duty  and  allegiance.  We  admire  Mr. 
Scott's  genius  as  much  as  any  of  those  who  may  be  misled  by 
its  perversion  ;  and,  like  the  curate  and  the  barber  in  Don 
Quixote,  lament  the  day  when  a  gentleman  of  such  endowments 
was  corrupted  by  the  wicked  tales  of  knight-errantry  and  en- 
chantment. —  Jeffrey. 

We  do  not  flatter  ourselves  that  Mr.  Scott  will  pay  to  our 
advice  that  attention  which  he  has  refused  to  his  acute  friend, 
Mr.  Erskine  ;  but  it  is  possible  that  his  own  good  sense  may  in 
tune  persuade  him  not  to  abandon  his  loved  fairy  ground  (a 
province  over  which  we  wish  him  a  long  and  prosperous  govern- 
so 


306  MARMION.  Canto  VI. 

ment),  but  to  combine  the  charms  of  lawful  poetry  with  those 
of  wild  and  romantic  fiction.  As  the  first  step  to  this  desirable 
end,  we  would  beg  him  to  reflect  that  his  Gothic  models  will 
not  bear  him  out  in  transferring  the  loose  and  shuffling  ballad 
metre  to  a  poem  of  considerable  length,  and  of  complicated 
interest  like  the  present.  It  is  a  very  easy  thing  to  write  five 
hundred  ballad  verses,  stans  pede  in  uno :  but  Mr.  Scott  needs 
not  to  be  told  that  five  hundred  verses  written  on  one  foot 
have  a  very  poor  chance  for  immortality.  —  Monthly  Review. 


APPENDIX 

TO 

MAKMION 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  A. 

As  when  the  Champion  of  the  Lake 

Enters  Morgana' s  fated  house, 

Or  in  the  Chapel  Perilous, 

Despising  spells  and  demons'1  force, 

Holds  converse  with  the  unburied  corse.  — p.  12. 

THE  Romance  of  the  Morte  Arthur  contains  a  sort  of 
abridgement  of  the  most  celebrated  adventures  of  the  Round 
Table  ;  and,  being  written  in  comparatively  modern  language, 
gives  the  general  reader  an  excellent  idea  of  what  romances  of 
chivalry  actually  were.  It  has  also  the  merit  of  being  written 
in  pure  old  English  ;  and  many  of  the  wild  adventures  which 
it  contains  are  told  with  a  simplicity  bordering  upon  the  sub- 
lime. Several  of  these  are  referred  to  in  the  text ;  and  I  would 
have  illustrated  them  by  more  full  extracts,  but  as  this  curious 
work  is  about  to  be  republished,  I  confine  myself  to  the  tale  of 
the  Chapel  Perilous,  and  of  the  quest  of  Sir  Launcelot  after 
the  Sangreal. 

"  Right  so  Sir  Launcelot  departed,  and  when  he  came  to 
the  Chapell  Perilous,  he  alighted  downe,  and  tied  his  horse  to 
a  little  gate.  And  as  soon  as  he  was  within  the  churchyard, 
he  saw,  on  the  front  of  the  chapell,  many  faire  rich  shields 
turned  upside  downe ;  and  many  of  the  shields  Sir  Launcelot 
had  scene  knights  have  before  ;  with  that  he  saw  stand  by  him 
thirtie  great  knights,  more,  by  a  yard,  than  any  man  that  ever 
he  had  seene,  and  all  those  grinned  and  gnashed  at  Sir  Launce- 
lot ;  and  when  he  saw  their  countenance,  hee  dread  them  sore, 
and  so  put  his  shield  afore  him,  and  tooke  his  sword  in  his 

3<>9 


3io  APPENDIX  TO 

hand,  ready  to  doe  battaile  ;  and  they  were  all  armed  in  black 
harneis,  ready,  with  their  shields  and  swords  drawen.  And 
when  Sir  Launcelot  would  have  gone  through  them,  they  scat- 
tered on  every  side  of  him,  and  gave  him  the  way  ;  and  there- 
with he  waxed  all  bold,  and  entered  into  the  chapell,  and  then 
hee  saw  no  light  but  a  dimme  lampe  burning,  and  then  was  he 
ware  of  a  corps  covered  with  a  cloath  of  silke  ;  then  Sir  Launce- 
lot stooped  downe,  and  cut  a  piece  of  that  cloath  away,  and 
then  it  fared  under  him  as  the  earth  had  quaked  a  little, 
whereof  he  was  afeared,  and  then  hee  saw  a  faire  sword  lye  by 
the  dead  knight,  and  that  he  gat  in  his  hand,  and  hied  him  out 
of  the  chappell.  As  soon  as  he  was  in  the  chappell-yerd,  all 
the  knights  spoke  to  him  with  a  grimly  voice,  and  said, 
'Knight,  Sir  Launcelot,  lay  that  sword  from  thee,  or  else 
thou  shalt  die.'  —  '  Whether  I  live  or  die,'  said  Sir  Launcelot, 
'with  no  great  words  get  yee  it  againe,  therefore  fight  for  it 
and  yee  list.'  Therewith  he  passed  through  them ;  and,  be- 
yond the  chappell-yerd,  there  met  him  a  faire  damosell,  and 
said,  '  Sir  Launcelot,  leave  that  sword  behind  thee,  or  thou 
wilt  die  for  it.'  —  'I  will  not  leave  it,'  said  Sir  Launcelot,  ' for 
no  threats.'  — '  No  ? '  said  she  ;  '  and  ye  did  leave  that  sword, 
Queen  Guenever  should  ye  never  see.'  —  '  Then  were  I  a  foole 
and  I  would  leave  this  sword,'  said  Sir  Launcelot.  'Now, 
gentle  knight,'  said  the  damosell,  'I  require  thee  to  kisse  me 
once.'  —  'Nay,'  said  Sir  Launcelot,  'that  God  forbid!'  — 
'Well,  sir,'  said  she,  'and  thou  haddest  kissed  me  thy  life 
dayes  had  been  done ;  but  now,  alas ! '  said  she,  '  I  have  lost 
all  my  labour ;  for  I  ordeined  this  chappell  for  thy  sake,  and 
for  Sir  Gawaine  :  and  once  I  had  Sir  Gawaine  within  it ;  and 
at  that  time  he  fought  with  that  knight  which  there  lieth  dead 
in  yonder  chappell,  Sir  Gilbert  the  bastard,  and  at  that  time 
hee  smote  off  Sir  Gilbert  the  bastard's  left  hand.  And  so,  Sir 
Launcelot,  now  I  tell  thee,  that  I  have  loved  thee  this  seaven 
yeare ;  but  there  may  no  woman  have  thy  love  but  Queene 
Guenever ;  but  sithen  I  may  not  rejoyice  thee  to  have  thy 
body  alive,  I  had  kept  no  more  joy  in  this  world  but  to  have 
had  thy  dead  body  ;  and  I  would  have  balmed  it  and  served, 
and  so  have  kept  it  in  my  life  daies,  and  daily  I  should  have 
clipped  thee,  and  kissed  thee,  in  the  despite  of  Queen  Guen- 
ever.'—  'Yee  say  well,'  said  Sir  Launcelot;  'Jesus  preserve 


MARMION.  311 

me  from  your  snbtill  craft.'     And  therewith  he  took  his 
horse,  and  departed  from  her." 

NOTE  B. 

A  sinful  man,  and  unconfess'd, 

He  took  the  Sangreal1  s  holy  quest, 

And,  slumbering,  saw  the  vision  high, 

He  might  not  view  with  waking  eye.  — p.  13. 

One  day.  when  Arthur  was  holding  a  high  feast  with  his 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  the  Sangreal,  or  vessel  out  of 
which  the  last  passover  was  eaten  (a  precious  relic,  which  had 
long  remained  concealed  from  human  eyes,  because  of  the  sins 
of  the  land),  suddenly  appeared  to  him  and  all  his  chivalry. 
The  consequence  of  this  vision  was,  that  all  the  knights  took 
on  them  a  solemn  vow  to  seek  the  Sangreal.  But,  alas  !  it 
could  only  be  revealed  to  a  knight  at  once  accomplished  in 
earthly  chivalry,  and  pure  and  guiltless  of  evil  conversation. 
All  Sir  Launcelot's  noble  accomplishments  were  therefore 
rendered  vain  by  his  guilty  intrigue  with  Queen  Guenever,  or 
Ganore  ;  and  in  his  holy  quest  he  encountered  only  such  dis- 
graceful disasters  as  that  which  follows  :  — 

"But  Sir  Launcelot  rode  overthwart  and  endlong  in  a  wild 
forest,  and  held  no  path,  but  as  wild  adventure  led  him  ;  and 
at  the  last,  he  came  unto  a  stone  crosse,  which  departed  two 
wayes,  in  wast  land  ;  and,  by  the  crosse,  was  a  stone  that  was 
of  marble ;  but  it  was  so  dark,  that  Sir  Lauucelot  might  not 
well  know  what  it  was.  Then  Sir  Launcelot  looked  by  himr 
and  saw  an  old  chappell,  and  there  he  wend  to  have  found 
people.  And  so  Sir  Launcelot  tied  his  horse  to  a  tree,  and 
there  he  put  off  his  shield,  and  hung  it  upon  a  tree,  and  then 
hee  went  unto  the  chappell  doore  and  found  it  wasted  and 
broken.  And  within  he  found  a  f aire  altar,  full  richly  arrayed 
with  cloth  of  silk,  and  there  stood  a  faire  candlestick,  which 
beare  six  great  candles,  and  the  candlesticke  was  of  silver. 
And  when  Sir  Launcelot  saw  this  light,  hee  had  a  great  will 
for  to  enter  into  the  chappell,  but  he  could  find  no  place  where 
hee  might  enter.  Then  was  he  passing  heavie  and  dismaied. 
Then  he  returned,  and  came  againe  to  his  horse,  and  tooke  off 
his  saddle  and  his  bridle,  and  let  him  pasture,  and  unlaced  his. 


312  APPENDIX   TO 

helme,  and  ungirded  his  sword,  and  laid  him  downe  to  sleepe 
upon  his  shield,  before  the  crosse. 

"And  so  hee  fell  on  sleep;  and,  halfe  waking  and  halfe 
sleeping,  hee  saw  come  by  him  two  palfreys,  both  faire  and 
white,  the  which  beare  a  litter,  therein  lying  a  sicke  knight. 
And  when  he  was  nigh  the  crosse,  he  there  abode  still.  All 
this  Sir  Launcelot  saw  and  beheld,  for  hee  slept  not  verily, 
and  hee  heard  him  say,  '  O  sweete  Lord,  when  shall  this  sorrow 
leave  me,  and  when  shall  the  holy  vessell  come  by  me,  where 
through  I  shall  be  blessed,  for  I  have  endured  thus  long  for 
little  trespasse ! '  And  thus  a  great  while  complained  the 
knight,  and  allwaies  Sir  Launcelot  heard  it.  With  that  Sir 
Launcelot  saw  the  candlesticke,  with  the  fire  tapers,  come 
before  the  crosse ;  but  he  could  see  no  body  that  brought  it. 
Also  there  came  a  table  of  silver,  and  the  holy  vessell  of  the 
Sancgreall,  the  which  Sir  Launcelot  had  seen  before  that  time 
in  King  Petchour's  house.  And  therewithall  the  sicke  knight 
set  him  upright,  and  held  up  both  his  hands,  and  said,  '  Faire 
sweete  Lord,  which  is  here  within  the  holy  vessell,  take  heede 
to  mee,  that  I  may  bee  hole  of  this  great  malady  ! '  And 
therewith  upon  his  hands,  and  upon  his  knees,  he  went  so 
nigh,  that  he  touched  the  holy  vessell,  and  kissed  it :  And 
anon  he  was  hole,  and  then  he  said,  '  Lord  God,  I  thank  thee, 
for  I  am  healed  of  this  malady.'  Soo  when  the  holy  vessell 
had  been  there  a  great  while,  it  went  into  the  chappell  againe, 
with  the  candlesticke  and  the  light,  so  that  Sir  Launcelot  wist 
not  where  it  became,  for  he  was  overtaken  with  sinne,  that  hee 
had  no  power  to  arise  against  the  holy  vessell,  wherefore  after- 
ward many  men  said  of  him  shame.  But  he  tooke  repentance 
afterward.  Then  the  sicke  knight  dressed  him  upright,  and 
kissed  the  crosse.  Then  anon  his  squire  brought  him  his 
armes,  and  asked  his  lord  how  he  did.  '  Certainly, '  said  hee, 
'  I  thanke  God  right  heartily,  for  through  the  holy  vessell  I  am 
healed  :  But  I  have  right  great  mervaile  of  this  sleeping 
knight,  which  hath  had  neither  grace  nor  power  to  awake 
during  the  time  that  this  holy  vessell  hath  beene  here  present. ' 
—  'I  dare  it  right  well  say,'  said  the  squire,  'that  this  same 
knight  is  defouled  with  some  manner  of  deadly  sinne,  whereof 
he  has  never  confessed.'  —  'By  my  faith,'  said  the  knight, 
'  whatsoever  he  be,  he  is  unhappie  ;  for,  as  I  deeme,  hee  is  of 


MARMION.  313 

the  fellowship  of  the  Round  Table,  the  which  is  entred  into 
the  quest  of  the  Sancgreall.'  —  'Sir,'  said  the  squire,  'here  I 
have  brought  you  all  your  armes,  save  your  helme  and  your 
sword  ;  and,  therefore,  by  mine  assent,  now  may  ye  take  this 
knight's  helme  and  his  sword  ; '  and  so  he  did.  And  when  he 
was  cleane  armed,  he  took  Sir  Launcelot's  horse,  for  he  was 
better  than  his  owne,  and  so  they  departed  from  the  crosse. 

"Then  anon  Sir  Launcelot  awaked,  and  set  himself e  up- 
right, and  he  thought  him  what  hee  had  there  scene,  and 
whether  it  were  dreames  or  not ;  right  so  he  heard  a  voice 
that  said,  '  Sir  Launcelot,  more  hardy  than  is  the  stone,  and 
more  bitter  than  is  the  wood,  and  more  naked  and  bare  than 
is  the  liefe  of  the  fig-tree,  therefore  go  thou  from  hence,  and 
withdraw  thee  from  this  holy  place ; '  and  when  Sir  Launce- 
lot heard  this,  he  was  passing  heavy,  and  wist  not  what  to  doe. 
And  so  he  departed  sore  weeping,  and  cursed  the  time  that  he 
was  borne  ;  for  then  he  deemed  never  to  have  had  more  wor- 
ship ;  for  the  words  went  unto  his  heart,  till  that  he  knew 
wherefore  that  hee  was  so  called." 


NOTE  C. 

Day  set  on  Norham1  s  castled  steep, 

And  Tweed"1  s  fair  river,  broad  and  deep,  etc.  — p.  19. 

The  ruinous  castle  of  Norham  (anciently  called  Ubbanford) 
is  situated  on  the  southern  bank  of  the  Tweed,  about  six  miles 
above  Berwick,  and  where  that  river  is  still  the  boundary 
between  England  and  Scotland.  The  extent  of  its  ruins,  as 
well  as  its  historical  importance,  shows  it  to  have  been  a  place 
of  magnificence,  as  well  as  strength.  Edward  I.  resided  there 
when  he  was  created  umpire  of  the  dispute  concerning  the 
Scottish  succession.  It  was  repeatedly  taken  and  retaken 
during  the  wars  between  England  and  Scotland,  and,  indeed, 
scarce  any  happened,  in  which  it  had  not  a  principal  share. 
Norham  Castle  is  situated  on  a  steep  bank,  which  overhangs 
the  river.  The  repeated  sieges  which  the  castle  had  sustained 
rendered  frequent  repairs  necessary.  In  1164  it  was  almost 
rebuilt  by  Hugh  Pudsey,  Bishop  of  Durham,  who  added  a 
huge  keep,  or  donjon ;  notwithstanding  which,  King  Henry 


3H  APPENDIX   TO 

II. ,  in  1174,  took  the  castle  from  the  bishop,  and  committed 
the  keeping  of  it  to  William  de  Neville.  After  this  period  it 
seems  to  have  been  chiefly  garrisoned  by  the  king,  and  consid- 
ered as  a  royal  fortress.  The  Greys  of  Chillinghain  Castle 
were  frequently  the  castellans,  or  captains  of  the  garrison. 
Yet,  as  the  castle  was  situated  in  the  patrimony  of  St.  Cuth- 
bert,  the  property  was  in  the  see  of  Durham  till  the  Reforma- 
tion.  After  that  period  it  passed  through  various  hands.  At 
the  union  of  the  crowns,  it  was  in  the  possession  of  Sir  Robert 
Carey  (afterward  Earl  of  Monmouth),  for  his  own  life  and 
that  of  two  of  his  sons.  After  King  James's  accession,  Carey 
sold  Norham  Castle  to  George  Home,  Earl  of  Dunbar,  for 
£6,000.  See  his  curious  Memoirs,  published  by  Mr.  Consta- 
ble of  Edinburgh. 

According  to  Mr.  Pinkerton,  there  is,  in  the  British  Museum, 
Cal.  B.  6.  216,  a  curious  memoir  of  the  Dacres  on  the  state  of 
Norham  Castle  in  1522,  not  long  after  the  battle  of  Flodden. 
The  inner  ward,  or  keep,  is  represented  as  impregnable. 
"The  provisions  are  three  great  vats  of  salt  eels,  forty-four 
kine,  three  hogsheads  of  salted  salmon,  forty  quarters  of  grain, 
besides  many  cows  and  four  hundred  sheep,  lying  under  the 
castle  wall  nightly  ;  but  a  number  of  the  arrows  wanted 
feathers,  and  a  good  Fletcher  (i.  e.,  maker  of  arrows)  was  re- 
quired."—  History  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  201,  note. 

The  ruins  of  the  castle  are  at  present  considerable,  as  well 
as  picturesque.  They  consist  of  a  large  shattered  tower,  with 
many  vaults,  and  fragments  of  other  edifices,  enclosed  within 
an  outward  wall  of  great  circuit. 


NOTE  D. 

They  haiVd  Lord  Marmion : 
They  haWd  him  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye, 

Of  Tamworth  tower  and  town.  — p.  27. 

Lord  Marmion,  the  principal  character  of  the  present  ro- 
mance, is  entirely  a  fictitious  personage.  In  earlier  times, 
indeed,  the  family  of  Marmion,  Lords  of  Fontenay,  in  Nor- 
mandy, was  highly  distinguished.  Robert  de  Marmion,  Lord 


MARMION.  315 

of  Fontenay,  a  distinguished  follower  of  the  Conqueror,  ob- 
tained a  grant  of  the  castle  and  town  of  Tamworth,  and  also 
of  the  manor  of  Scrivelby,  in  Lincolnshire.  One,  or  both  of 
these  noble  possessions,  was  held  by  the  honourable  service 
of  being  the  royal  champion,  as  the  ancestors  of  Mannion  had 
formerly  been  to  the  Dukes  of  Normandy.  But  after  the 
castle  and  demesne  of  Tamworth  had  passed  through  four  suc- 
cessive barons  from  Robert,  the  family  became  extinct  in  the 
person  of  Philip  de  Marmion,  who  died  in  20th  Edward  I. 
without  issue  male.  He  was  succeeded  in  his  castle  of  Tam- 
worth by  Alexander  de  Freville,  who  married  Mazera,  his 
granddaughter.  Baldwin  de  Freville,  Alexander's  descend- 
ant, in  the  reign  of  Richard  I.,  by  the  supposed  tenure  of  his 
castle  of  Tamworth,  claimed  the  office  of  royal  champion,  and 
to  do  the  service  appertaining ;  namely,  on  the  day  of  corona- 
tion, to  ride,  completely  armed,  upon  a  barbed  horse,  into 
Westminster  Hall,  and  there  to  challenge  the  combat  against 
any  who  would  gainsay  the  king's  title.  But  this  office  was 
adjudged  to  Sir  John  Dymoke,  to  whom  the  manor  of  Scrivelby 
had  descended  by  another  of  the  co-heiresses  of  Robert  de 
Marmion  ;  and  it  remains  in  that  family,  whose  representative 
is  Hereditary  Champion  of  England  at  the  present  day.  The 
family  and  possessions  of  Freville  have  merged  in  the  Earls  of 
Ferrars.  I  have  not,  therefore,  created  a  new  family,  but 
only  revived  the  titles  of  an  old  one  in  an  imaginary  personage. 

It  was  one  of  the  Marmion  family,  who,  in  the  reign  of 
Edward  II.,  performed  that  chivalrous  feat  before  the  very 
castle  of  Norham,  which  Bishop  Percy  has  woven  into  his 
beautiful  ballad,  "The  Hermit  of  Warkworth."  The  story  is 
thus  told  by  Lei  and  : 

"The  Scottes  came  yn  to  the  marches  of  England,  and 
destroyed  the  castles  of  Werk  and  Herbotel,  and  overran  much 
of  Northumberland  marches. 

"  At  this  tyme,  Thomas  Gray  and  his  friendes  defended  Nor- 
ham from  the  Scottes. 

"  It  were  a  wonderful  processe  to  declare,  what  mischefes 
cam  by  hungre  and  asseges  by  the  space  of  xi  yeres  in  North- 
umberland ;  for  the  Scottes  became  so  proude  after  they  had 
got  Berwick,  that  they  nothing  esteemed  the  Englishmen. 

"  Aboutt  his  tyme  there  was  a  greate  feste  made  yn  Lincoln- 


3i6  APPENDIX  TO 

shir,  to  which  came  many  gentlemen  and  ladies  ;  and  amonge 
them  one  lady  brought  a  heaulme  for  a  man  of  were,  with  a 
very  riche  create  of  gold,  to  William  Marmion,  knight,  with 
a  letter  of  commandement  of  her  lady,  that  he  should  go  into 
the  daungerest  place  in  England,  and  ther  to  let  the  heaulme 
be  scene  and  known  as  famous.  So  he  went  to  Norham ; 
whither,  within  4  days  of  cumming,  cam  Philip  Moubray, 
guardian  of  Berwicke,  having  yn  his  bande  40  men  of  armes, 
the  very  flour  of  men  of  the  Scottish  marches. 

"  Thomas  Gray,  capitayne  of  Norham,  seynge  this,  brought 
his  garison  afore  the  barriers  of  the  castel,  behind  whom  cam 
William,  richly  arrayed,  as  al  glittering  in  gold,  and  wearing 
the  heaulme,  his  lady's  present. 

"Then  said  Thomas  Gray  to  Marmion,  '  Sir  Knight,  ye  be 
cum  hither  to  fame  your  helmet :  mount  upon  yowr  horse,  and 
ryde  lyke  a  valiant  man  to  yowr  foes  even  here  at  hand,  and  I 
forsake  God  if  I  rescue  not  thy  body  deade  or  alyve,  or  I 
myself  wyl  dye  for  it. ' 

"  Whereupon  he  toke  his  cursere,  and  rode  among  the 
throng  of  ennemyes  ;  the  which  layed  sore  stripes  on  him,  and 
pulled  him  at  the  last  out  of  his  sadel  to  the  grounde. 

"  Then  Thomas  Gray,  with  al  the  hole  garrison,  lette  prick 
yn  among  the  Scottes,  and  so  wondid  them  and  their  horses, 
that  they  were  overthrowan ;  and  Marmion,  sore  beten,  was 
horsid  agayn,  and,  with  Gray,  persewed  the  Scottes  yn  chase. 
There  were  taken  50  horse  of  price  ;  and  the  women  of  Norham 
brought  them  to  the  foote  men  to  follow  the  chase." 


NOTE  F.1 

The  scenes  are  desert  now,  and  bare, 
Where  flourish'1 d  once  a  forest  fair.  — p.  49. 

Ettrick  Forest,  now  a  range  of  mountainous  sheep-walks, 
was  anciently  reserved  for  the  pleasure  of  the  royal  chase. 
Since  it  was  disparked,  the  wood  has  been,  by  degrees,  almost 

*As  the  ballad  given  in  the  Notes  to  the  former  editions  of 
Marmion  is  to  be  found  in  the  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.,  it  is 
thought  unnecessary,  in  this  collected  edition,  to  repeat  it,  as  in- 
tended, under  the  head  of  Note  E. 


MARMIOX.  317 

totally  destroyed,  although,  wherever  protected  from  the  sheep, 
copses  soon  arise  without  any  planting.  When  the  king 
hunted  there,  he  often  summoned  the  array  of  the  country  to 
meet  and  assist  his  sport.  Thus,  in  1528,  James  V.  "made 
proclamation  to  all  lords,  barons,  gentlemen,  landward-men, 
and  freeholders,  that  they  should  compear  at  Edinburgh,  with 
a  month's  victuals,  to  pass  with  the  king  where  he  pleased,  to 
danton  the  thieves  of  Tiviotdale,  Annandale,  Liddisdale,  and 
other  parts  of  that  country ;  and  also  warned  all  gentlemen 
that  had  good  dogs  to  bring  them,  that  he  might  hunt  in  the 
said  country  as  he  pleased :  The  whilk  the  Earl  of  Argyle, 
the  Earl  of  Huntley,  the  Earl  of  Athole,  and  so  all  the  rest  of 
the  gentlemen  of  the  Highland,  did,  and  brought  their  hounds 
with  them  in  like  manner,  to  hunt  with  the  king,  as  he  pleased. 

"The  second  day  of  June  the  king  past  out  of  Edinburgh 
to  the  hunting,  with  many  of  the  nobles  and  gentlemen  of 
Scotland  with  him,  to  the  number  of  twelve  thousand  men ; 
and  then  past  to  Meggitland,  and  hounded  and  hawked  all  the 
country  and  bounds ;  that  is  to  say,  Crammat,  Pappert-law, 
St.  Mary-laws,  Carlavirick,  Chapel,  Ewindoores,  and  Long- 
hope.  I  heard  say  he  slew,  in  these  bounds,  eighteen  score  of 
harts."1 

These  huntings  had,  of  course,  a  military  character,  and 
attendance  upon  them  was  a  part  of  the  duty  of  a  vassal.  The 
act  for  abolishing  ward  or  military  tenures  in  Scotland  enumer- 
ates the  services  of  hunting,  hosting,  watching,  and  warding, 
as  those  which  were  in  future  to  be  illegal. 

Taylor,  the  water-poet,  has  given  an  account  of  the  mode  in 
which  these  huntings  were  conducted  in  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland  in  the  seventeenth  century,  having  been  present  at 
Brsemar  upon  such  an  occasion  : 

"There  did  I  find  the  truly  noble  and  right  honourable 
lords,  John  Erskine,  Earl  of  Mar ;  James  Stewart,  Earl  of 
Murray  ;  George  Gordon,  Earl  of  Engye,  son  and  heir  to  the 
Marquis  of  Huntley  ;  James  Erskine,  Earl  of  Buchan ;  and 
John,  Lord  Erskine,  son  and  heir  to  the  Earl  of  Mar,  and  their 
countesses,  with  my  much  honoured  and  my  last  assured  and 
approved  friend,  Sir  William  Murray,  knight  of  Abercaxney, 

i  Pitacottie's  History  of  Scotland,  folio  edition,  p.  143. 


3i8  APPENDIX   TO 

and  hundreds  of  others,  knights,  esquires,  and  their  followers ; 
all  and  every  man,  in  general,  in  one  habit,  as  if  Lycurgus  had 
been  there,  and  made  laws  of  equality ;  for  once  in  the  year, 
which  is  the  whole  month  of  August,  and  sometimes  part  of 
September,  many  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  the  kingdom 
(for  their  pleasure)  do  come  into  these  Highland  countries  to 
hunt ;  where  they  do  conform  themselves  to  the  habit  of  the 
Highlandmen,  who,  for  the  most  part,  speak  nothing  but  Irish  ; 
and,  in  former  time,  were  those  people  which  were  called  the 
Bed-shanks.  Their  habit  is  —  shoes,  with  but  one  sole  apiece  ; 
stockings  (which  they  call  short  hose),  made  of  a  warm  stuff  of 
diverse  colours,  which  they  call  tartan  ;  as  for  breeches,  many 
of  them,  nor  their  forefathers,  never  wore  any,  but  a  jerkin  of 
the  same  stuff  that  their  hose  is  of,  their  garters  being  bands 
or  wreaths  of  hay  or  straw  ;  with  a  plaid  about  their  shoulders, 
which  is  a  mantle  of  diverse  colours,  much  finer  and  lighter 
stuff  than  then*  hose  ;  with  blue  flat  caps  on  their  heads ;  a 
handkerchief,  knit  with  two  knots,  about  their  necks  :  and 
thus  are  they  attired.  Now  their  weapons  are  —  long  bowes 
and  forked  arrows,  swords  and  targets,  harquebusses,  muskets, 
durks,  and  Lochaber  axes.  With  these  arms  I  found  many  of 
them  armed  for  the  hunting.  As  for  their  attire,  any  man, 
of  what  degree  soever,  that  comes  amongst  them,  must  not 
disdain  to  wear  it ;  for  if  they  do,  then  they  will  disdain  to 
hunt,  or  willingly  to  bring  in  their  dogs ;  but  if  men  be  kind 
unto  them,  and  be  in  then-  habit,  then  are  they  conquered  with 
kindness,  and  the  sport  will  be  plentiful.  This  was  the  reason 
that  I  found  so  many  noblemen  and  gentlemen  in  those  shapes. 
But  to  proceed  to  the  hunting  : 

"My  good  Lord  of  Marr  having  put  me  into  that  shape,  I 
rode  with  him  from  his  house,  where  I  saw  the  ruins  of  an  old 
castle,  called  the  Castle  of  Kindroghit.  It  was  built  by  King 
Malcolm  Canmore  (for  a  hunting-house),  who  reigned  in  Scot- 
land when  Edward  the  Confessor,  Harold,  and  Norman  William, 
reigned  in  England.  I  speak  of  it  because  it  was  the  last 
house  I  saw  in  those  parts  ;  for  I  was  the  space  of  twelve  days 
after,  before  I  saw  either  house,  corn-field,  or  habitation  for 
any  creature,  but  deer,  wild  horses,  wolves,  and  such  like 
creatures,  —  which  made  me  doubt  that  I  should  never  have 
seen  a  house  again. 


MARMION.  319 

"Thus,  the  first  day,  we  travelled  eight  miles,  where  there 
were  small  cottages,  built  on  purpose  to  lodge  in,  which  they 
call  Lonquhards.  I  thank  my  good  Lord  Erskine,  he  com- 
manded that  I  should  always  be  lodged  in  his  lodging :  the 
kitchen  being  always  on  the  side  of  a  bank  :  many  kettles  and 
pots  boiling,  and  many  spits  turning  and  winding,  with  great 
variety  of  cheer,  —  as  venison  baked  ;  sodden,  rost,  and  stewed 
beef  ;  mutton,  goats,  kid,  hares,  fresh  salmon,  pigeons,  hens, 
capons,  chickens,  partridges,  muir-coots,  heath-cocks,  caper- 
kellies,  and  termagants  ;  good  ale,  sacke,  white  and  claret,  tent 
(or  allegant),  with  most  potent  aquavitse. 

"All  these,  and  more  than  these,  we  had  continually  in 
superfluous  abundance,  caught  by  falconers,  fowlers,  fishers, 
and  brought  by  my  lord's  tenants  and  purveyors  to  victual  our 
camp,  which  consisteth  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  hundred  men  and 
horses.  The  manner  of  the  hunting  is  this  :  Five  or  six  hun- 
dred men  do  rise  early  in  the  morning,  and  they  do  disperse 
themselves  divers  ways,  and  seven,  eight,  or  ten  miles  compass, 
they  do  bring,  or  chase  in,  the  deer  in  many  herds  (two, 
three,  or  four  hundred  in  a  herd),  to  such  or  such  a  place, 
as  the  noblemen  shall  appoint  them  ;  then,  when  day  is  come, 
the  lords  and  gentlemen  of  their  companies  do  ride  or  go  to 
the  said  places,  sometimes  wading  up  to  the  middles,  through 
burns  and  rivers ;  and  then,  they  being  come  to  the  place,  do 
lie  down  on  the  ground,  till  those  foresaid  scouts,  which  are 
called  the  Tinkhell,  do  bring  down  the  deer ;  but,  as  the 
proverb  says  of  a  bad  cook,  so  these  tinkhell  men  do  lick  their 
own  fingers ;  for,  besides  their  bows  and  arrows,  which  they 
carry  with  them,  we  can  hear,  now  and  then,  a  harquebuss  or 
a  musket  go  off,  which  they  do  seldom  discharge  in  vain. 
Then  after  we  had  staid  there  three  hours,  or  thereabouts,  we 
might  perceive  the  deer  appear  on  the  hills  round  about  us 
(their  heads  making  a  show  like  a  wood),  which,  being  followed 
close  by  the  tinkhell,  are  chased  down  into  the  valley  where 
we  lay  ;  then  all  the  valley,  on  each  side,  being  way-laid  with 
a  hundred  couple  of  strong  Irish  greyhounds,  they  are  all  let 
loose,  as  occasion  serves,  upon  the  herd  of  deer,  that  with 
dogs,  guns,  arrows,  durks,  and  daggers,  in  the  space  of  two 
hours,  fourscore  fat  deer  were  slain  ;  which  after  are  disposed 
of,  some  one  way,  and  some  another,  twenty  and  thirty  miles, 


320  APPENDIX   TO 

and  more  than  enough  left  for  us,  to  make  merry  withall,  at 
our  rendezvous." 

NOTE  G. 

Then  Whitby's  nuns  exulting  told, 
How  to  their  house  three  Barons  bold 
Must  menial  service  do.  — p.  72. 

The  popular  account  of  this  curious  service,  which  was 
probably  considerably  exaggerated,  is  thus  given  in  A  True 
Account,  printed  and  circulated  at  Whitby :  "In  the  fifth 
year  of  the  reign  of  Henry  II.,  after  the  conquest  of  England 
by  William,  Duke  of  Normandy,  the  Lord  of  Uglebarnby, 
then  called  William  de  Bruce,  the  Lord  of  Smeaton,  called 
Ealph  de  Percy,  with  a  gentleman  and  freeholder  called 
Allatson,  did,  on  the  16th  of  October,  1159,  appoint  to  meet 
and  hunt  the  wild  boar,  in  a  certain  wood,  or  desert  place, 
belonging  to  the  Abbot  of  Whitby :  the  place's  name  was 
Eskdale-side ;  and  the  abbot's  name  was  Sedman.  Then, 
these  young  gentlemen  being  met,  with  their  hounds,  and 
boar-staves,  in  the  place  before  mentioned,  and  there  having 
found  a  great  wild  boar,  the  hounds  ran  him  well  near  aboxit 
the  chapel  and  hermitage  of  Eskdale-side,  where  was  a  monk 
of  Whitby,  who  was  an  hermit.  The  boar,  being  very  sorely 
pursued,  and  dead-run,  took  in  at  the  chapel  door,  there  laid 
him  down,  and  presently  died.  The  hermit  shut  the  hounds 
out  of  the  chapel,  and  kept  himself  within  at  his  meditations 
and  prayers,  the  hounds  standing  at  bay  without.  The  gentle- 
men, in  the  thick  of  the  wood,  being  just  behind  their  game, 
followed  the  cry  of  their  hounds,  and  so  came  to  the  hermitage, 
calling  on  the  hermit,  who  opened  the  door,  and  came  forth ; 
and  within  they  found  the  boar  lying  dead :  for  which,  the 
gentlemen,  in  a  very  great  fury,  because  the  hounds  were  put 
from  their  game,  did  most  violently  and  cruelly  run  at  the 
hermit  with  their  boar-staves,  whereby  he  soon  after  died. 
Thereupon  the  gentlemen,  perceiving  and  knowing  that  they 
were  in  peril  of  death,  took  sanctuary  at  Scarborough  :  But  at 
that  time  the  abbot  being  in  very  great  favour  with  the  king, 
removed  them  out  of  the  sanctuary ;  whereby  they  came  in 
danger  of  the  law,  and  not  to  be  privileged,  but  likely  to  have 


MARMION.  321 

the  severity  of  the  law,  which  was  death  for  death.  But  the 
hermit,  being  a  holy  and  devout  man,  and  at  the  point  of 
death,  sent  for  the  abbot,  and  desired  him  to  send  for  the 
gentlemen  who  had  wounded  him.  The  abbot  so  doing,  the 
gentlemen  came ;  and  the  hermit,  being  very  sick  and  weak, 
said  unto  them,  '  I  am  sure  to  die  of  those  wounds  you  have 
given  me.' — The  abbot  answered,  'They  shall  as  surely  die 
for  the  same. '  —  But  the  hermit  answered,  '  Not  so,  for  I  will 
freely  forgive  them  my  death,  if  they  will  be  content  to  be 
enjoined  the  penance  I  shall  lay  on  them  for  the  safeguard  of 
their  souls.'  The  gentlemen  being  present,  bade  him  save 
their  lives.  —  Then  said  the  hermit,  '  You  and  yours  shall  hold 
your  lands  of  the  Abbot  of  Whitby,  and  his  successors,  in  this 
manner :  That,  upon  Ascension-day,  you,  or  some  of  you, 
shall  come  to  the  wood  of  the  Stray-heads,  which  is  in  Eskdale- 
side,  the  same  day  at  sun-rising,  and  there  shall  the  abbot's 
officer  blow  his  horn,  to  the  intent  that  you  may  know  where 
to  find  him  ;  and  he  shall  deliver  unto  you,  William  de  Bruce, 
ten  stakes,  eleven  strout  stowers,  and  eleven  yethers,  to  be  cut 
by  you,  or  some  of  you,  with  a  knife  of  one  penny  price  :  and 
you,  Ralph  de  Percy,  shall  take  twenty-one  of  each  sort,  to  be 
cut  in  the  same  manner  ;  and  you,  AUatson,  shall  take  nine  of 
each  sort,  to  be  cut  as  aforesaid,  and  to  be  taken  on  your  backs 
and  carried  to  the  town  of  Whitby,  and  to  be  there  before 
nine  of  the  clock  the  same  day  before  mentioned.  At  the 
same  hour  of  nine  of  the  clock,  if  it  be  full  sea,  your  labour 
and  service  shall  cease  ;  and  if  low  water,  each  of  you  shall  set 
your  stakes  to  the  brim,  each  stake  one  yard  from  the  other, 
and  so  yether  them  on  each  side  with  your  yethers ;  and  so- 
stake  on  each  side  with  your  strout  stowers,  that  they  may 
stand  three  tides,  without  removing  by  the  force  thereof. 
Each  of  you  shall  do,  make,  and  execute  the  said  service,, 
at  that  very  hour,  every  year,  except  it  be  full  sea  at  that 
hour ;  but  when  it  shall  so  fall  out,  this  service  shall  cease. 
You  shall  faithfully  do  this,  in  remembrance  that  you  did 
most  cruelly  slay  me ;  and  that  you  may  the  better  call  to 
God  for  mercy,  repent  unfeignedly  of  your  sins,  and  do  good 
works.  The  officer  of  Eskdale-side  shall  blow,  Out  on  you  f 
Out  on  you  !  Out  on  you !  for  this  heinous  crime.  If  you,  or 
your  successors,  shall  refuse  this  service,  so  long  as  it  shall  not 

21 


322  APPENDIX  TO 

be  full  sea  at  the  aforesaid  hour,  you  or  yours,  shall  forfeit 
your  lands  to  the  Ahbot  of  Whitby,  or  his  successors.  This  I 
entreat,  and  earnestly  beg,  that  you  may  have  lives  and  goods 
preserved  for  this  service  :  and  I  request  of  you  to  promise,  by 
your  parts  in  Heaven,  that  it  shall  be  done  by  you  and  your 
successors,  as  is  aforesaid  requested  ;  and  I  will  confirm  it  by 
the  faith  of  an  honest  man.'  —  Then  the  hermit  said,  '  My  soul 
longeth  for  the  Lord  :  and  I  do  as  freely  forgive  these  men  my 
death,  as  Christ  forgave  the  thieves  on  the  cross.'  And,  in 
the  presence  of  the  abbot  and  the  rest,  he  said  moreover  these 
words  :  '  In  manus  tuos,  Domine,  commendo  spiritum  meum,  a 
vinculis  enim  mortis  redemisti  me,  Domine  veritatis.  Amen.1 
—  So  he  yielded  up  the  ghost  the  eighth  day  of  December, 
Anno  Domini  1159,  whose  soul  God  have  mercy  upon.  Amen. 
"  This  service,"  it  is  added,  "  still  continues  to  be  performed 
with  the  prescribed  ceremonies,  though  not  by  the  proprietors 
in  person.  .  Part  of  the  lands  charged  therewith  are  now  held 
by  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Herbert." 


NOTE  H. 

Yet  still  the  knightly  spear  and  shield 
The  Elfin  Warrior  doth  wield 
Upon  the  brown  hill's  breast.  — p.  132. 

The  following  extract  from  the  Essay  upon  the  Fairy  Super- 
stitions, in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  vol.  ii.,  will 
show  whence  many  of  the  particulars  of  the  combat  between 
Alexander  III.  and  the  Goblin  Knight  are  derived  : 

Gervase  of  Tilbury  (Otia  Imperial  ap.  Script,  rer.  Brunsvic, 
vol.  i.  p.  797)  relates  the  following  popular  story  concerning  a 
fairy  knight:  "Osbert,  a  bold  and  powerful  baron,  visited  a 
noble  family  in  the  vicinity  of  Wandlebury,  in  the  bishopric  of 
Ely.  Among  other  stories  related  in  the  social  circle  of  his 
friends,  who,  according  to  custom,  amused  each  other  by 
repeating  ancient  tales  and  traditions,  he  was  informed,  that  if 
any  knight,  unattended,  entered  an  adjacent  plain  by  moon- 
light, and  challenged  an  adversary  to  appear,  he  would  be 
immediately  encountered  by  a  spirit  in  the  form  of  a  knight. 
Osbert  resolved  to  make  the  experiment,  and  set  out,  attended 


MARMION.  323 

by  a  single  squire,  whom  he  ordered  to  remain  without  the 
limits  of  the  plain,  which  was  surrounded  by  an  ancient  in- 
treuchment.  On  repeating  the  challenge,  he  was  instantly  as- 
sailed by  an  adversary,  whom  he  quickly  unhorsed,  and  seized 
the  reins  of  his  steed.  During  this  operation,  his  ghostly  oppo- 
nent sprung  up,  and  darting  his  spear,  like  a  javelin,  at  Osbert 
wounded  him  in  the  thigh.  Osbert  returned  in  triumph  with 
the  horse,  which  he  committed  to  the  care  of  his  servants. 
The  horse  was  of  a  sable  colour,  as  well  as  his  whole  accou- 
trements, and  apparently  of  great  beauty  and  vigour.  He 
remained  with  his  keeper  till  cock-crowing,  when,  with  eyes 
flashing  fire,  he  reared,  spurned  the  ground,  and  vanished.  On 
disarming  himself,  Osbert  perceived  that  he  was  wounded,  and 
that  one  of  his  steel  boots  was  full  of  blood."  Gervase  adds 
that,  "  as  long  as  he  lived,  the  scar  of  his  wound  opened  afresh 
on  the  anniversary  of  the  eve  on  which  he  encountered  the 
spirit."  Less  fortunate  was  the  gallant  Bohemian  knight,  who, 
travelling  by  night  with  a  single  companion,  "came  in  sight  of 
a  fairy  host,  arrayed  under  displayed  banners.  Despising  the 
remonstrances  of  his  friend,  the  knight  pricked  forward  to  break 
a  lance  with  a  champion,  who  advanced  from  the  ranks  appar- 
ently in  defiance.  His  companion  beheld  the  Bohemian  over- 
thrown, horse  and  man,  by  his  aerial  adversary  ;  and  returning 
to  the  spot  next  morning,  he  found  the  mangled  corpses  of  the 
knight  and  steed."  —  Hierarchy  of  Blessed  Angels,  p.  554. 

Besides  these  instances  of  Elfin  chivalry  above  quoted,  many 
others  might  be  alleged  in  support  of  employing  fairy  machinery 
in  this  manner.  The  forest  of  Glenmore,  in  the  North  High- 
lands, is  believed  to  be  haunted  by  a  spirit  called  Lham-dearg 
in  the  array  of  an  ancient  warrior,  having  a  bloody  hand,  from 
which  he  takes  his  name.  He  insists  upon  those  with  whom 
he  meets  doing  battle  with  him  ;  and  the  clergyman,  who  makes 
up  an  account  of  the  district,  extant  in  the  Macfarlane  MS.,  in 
the  Advocates'  Library,  gravely  assures  us  that,  in  his  time, 
Lham-dearg  fought  with  three  brothers  whom  he  met  in  his 
walk,  none  of  whom  long  survived  the  ghostly  conflict.  Bar- 
clay, in  his  Euphormion,  gives  a  singular  account  of  an 
officer  who  had  ventured,  with  his  servant,  rather  to  intrude 
upon  a  haunted  house,  in  a  town  in  Flanders,  than  to  put  up 
with  worse  quarters  elsewhere.  After  taking  the  usual  pre- 


324  APPENDIX  TO 

cautions  of  providing  fires,  lights,  and  arms,  they  watched  till 
midnight,  when  behold  !  the  severed  arm  of  a  man  dropped 
from  the  ceiling  ;  this  was  followed  by  the  legs,  the  other  arm, 
the  trunk,  and  the  head  of  the  body,  all  separately.  The  mem- 
bers rolled  together,  united  themselves  in  the  presence  of  the 
astonished  soldiers,  and  formed  a  gigantic  warrior,  who  defied 
them  both  to  combat.  Their  blows,  although  they  penetrated 
the  body,  and  amputated  the  limbs,  of  their  strange  antagonist, 
had,  as  the  reader  may  easily  believe,  little  effect  on  an  enemy 
who  possessed  such  powers  of  self -union ;  nor  did  his  efforts 
make  more  effectual  impression  upon  them.  How  the  combat 
terminated  I  do  not  exactly  remember,  and  have  riot  the  book 
by  me ;  but  I  think  the  spirit  made  to  the  intruders  on  his 
mansion  the  usual  proposal,  that  they  should  renounce  their 
redemption ;  which  being  declined,  he  was  obliged  to  retreat. 

The  most  singular  tale  of  the  kind  is  contained  in  an  extract 
communicated  to  me  by  my  friend,  Mr.  Surtees  of  Mainsforth, 
in  the  Bishopric,  who  copied  it  from  a  MS.  note  in  a  copy  of 
Burthogge  On  the  Nature  of  Spirits,  8vo,  1694,  which  had 
been  the  property  of  the  late  Mr.  Gill,  attorney-general  to 
Egerton,  Bishop  of  Durham.  "  It  was  not,"  says  my  obliging 
correspondent,  "  in  Mr.  Gill's  own  hand,  but  probably  an  hun- 
dred years  older,  and  was  said  to  be,  E  libra  Convent.  Dunelm. 
per  T.  C.  extract.,  whom  I  believe  to  have  been  Thomas  Cra- 
docke,  Esq.,  barrister,  who  held  several  offices  under  the  see 
of  Durham  a  hundred  years  ago.  Mr.  Gill  was  possessed  of 
most  of  his  manuscripts."  The  extract,  which,  in  fact,  sug- 
gested the  introduction  of  the  tale  into  the  present  poem,  runs 
thus : 

"  Bern  miram  hujusmodi  quoe  nostris  temporibus  evenit,  teste 
viro  nobili  acfide  dignissimo,  enarrare  haudpigebit.  Eadulphus 
Bulmer,  cum  e  castris,  quce  tune  temporis  prope  Norham  posita 
erant,  oblectationis  causa,  exiisset,  ac  in  utteriore  Tuedce  ripa 
prasdam  cum  canibus  leporariis  insequeretur,  forte  cum  Scoto 
quodam  nobili,  sibi  antehac,  ut  videbatur,  familiariter  cognito, 
congressus  est;  ac,  ut  fas  erat  inter  inimicos,  fiagrante  bello, 
brevissimd  interrogationis  mora  interposita,  alterutros  invicem 
incitato  cursu  infestis  animis  petiere.  Noster,  primo  occursu, 
equo  prceacerrimo  hostis  impetu  labante,  in  terram  eversus  pectore 
et  capite  loeso,  sanguinem,  mortuo  similis,  evomebat.  Quern  ut 


MARMION.  325 

se  oegre  habentem  comiter  allocutus  est  alter,  potticitusque,  modo 
auxilium  non  abnegaret,  monitisque  obtemperans  ab  omni  rerum 
sacrarum  cogitatione  abstineret,  nee  Deo,  Deiparce  Virgini, 
Sanctoce  ullo,  preces  aut  vota  efferret  vel  inter  sess  conciperet, 
se  brevi  eum  sanum  validumque  restituturum  esse.  Free  angore 
oblata  conditio  accepta  est;ac  veterator  ille  nescio  quid  obscaeni 
murmuris  insusurrans,  prehensd  menu,  dicto  citius  in  pedes 
sanum  ut  antea  sublevavit.  Noster  autem,  maxima  prce  rei 
inaudita  novitate  formidine  perculsus,  Mi  JESU  !  exclamat,  vel 
quid  simile;  ac  subito  respiciens  nee  hostem  nee  ullum  alium 
conspicit,  equum  solum  gravissimo  nuper  casu  afflictum,  per 
summam  pacem  in  rivo  fluvii  pascentem.  Ad  castra  itaque 
mirabandus  revertens,  fidei  dubius,  rem  primo  occuttavit,  dein, 
confecto  bello,  Confessori  suo  totam  asseruit.  Delusoria  procul 
dubio  res  tota,  ac  mala  veteratoris  Ulius  aperitur  fraus,  qua 
hominem  Christianum  ad  vetitum  tale  auxilium  pelliceret. 
Nomen  utcunque  Ulius  (nobilis  alias  ac  clari)  reticendum  duco, 
cum  hand  dubium  sit  quin  Diabolus,  Deo  permittente,  formam 
quam  libuerit,  immo  angeli  lucis,  sacro  oculo  Dei  teste,  posse 
assumere."  The  MS.  chronicle,  from  which  Mr.  Cradocke 
took  this  curious  extract,  cannot  now  be  found  in  the  Chapter 
Library  of  Durham,  or,  at  least,  has  hitherto  escaped  the  re- 
searches of  my  friendly  correspondent. 

Lindesay  is  made  to  allude  to  this  adventure  of  Ralph  Bul- 
mer,  as  a  well-known  story,  in  the  4th  canto,  stanza  xxii. 

The  northern  champions  of  old  were  accustomed  peculiarly 
to  search  for,  and  delight  in,  encounters  with  such  military 
spectres.  See  a  whole  chapter  on  the  subject,  in  Bartholinus 
De  Causis  contempts  Mortis  a  Danis,  p.  253. 


NOTE  I. 

Sir  David  Lindesay  of  the  Mount, 
Lord  Lion  King-at-arms.  — p.  153. 

The  late  elaborate  edition  of  Sir  David  Lindesay's  Works, 
by  Mr.  George  Chalmers,  has  probably  introduced  him  to  many 
of  my  readers.  It  is  perhaps  to  be  regretted  that  the  learned 
editor  had  not  bestowed  more  pains  in  elucidating  his  author, 
even  although  he  should  have  omitted,  or  at  least  reserved,  his 


326  APPENDIX  TO 

disquisitions  on  the  origin  of  the  language  used  by  the  poet : l 
But,  with  all  its  faults,  his  work  is  an  acceptable  present  to 
Scottish  antiquaries.  Sir  David  Lindesay  was  well  known  for 
his  early  efforts  in  favour  of  the  reformed  doctrines ;  and,  in- 
deed, his  play,  coarse  as  it  now  seems,  must  have  had  a  power- 
ful effect  upon  the  people  of  his  age.  I  am  uncertain  if  I  abuse 
poetical  license,  by  introducing  Sir  David  Lindesay  in  the  char- 
acter of  Lion-Herald,  sixteen  years  before  he  obtained  that  office. 
At  any  rate,  I  am  not  the  first  who  has  been  guilty  of  the 
anachronism ;  for  the  author  of  Flodden  Field  despatches 
Dallamount,  which  can  mean  nobody  but  Sir  David  de  la  Mont, 
to  France,  on  the  message  of  defiance  from  James  IV.  to  Henry 
VIII.  It  was  often  an  office  imposed  on  the  Lion  King-at- 
arms,  to  receive  foreign  ambassadors ;  and  Lindesay  himself 
did  this  honour  to  Sir  Ralph  Sadler,  in  1539-40.  Indeed,  the 
oath  of  the  Lion,  in  its  first  article,  bears  reference  to  his  fre- 
quent employment  upon  royal  messages  and  embassies. 

The  office  of  heralds,  in  feudal  times,  being  held  of  the 
utmost  importance,  the  inauguration  of  the  kings-at-arms,  who 
presided  over  their  colleges,  was  proportionally  solemn.  In 

*I  beg  leave  to  quote  a  single  instance  from  a  very  interesting 
passage.  Sir  David,  recounting  his  attention  to  King  James  Y.  in  hia 
infancy,  is  made,  by  the  learned  editor's  punctuation,  to  say: 

"  The  first  sillabis,  that  thou  did  mute, 
Was  pa,  da,  lyn,  upon  the  lute ; 
Then  played  I  twenty  springis  perqueir, 
Quhilk  was  great  plesour  for  to  hear." 

Vol.  i.  p.  7.  257. 

Mr.  Chalmers  does  not  inform  us,  by  note  or  glossary,  what  is  meant 
by  the  king  "  muting  pa,  da,  lyn,  upon  the  lute ; "  but  any  old  woman 
in  Scotland  will  bear  witness  that  pa,  da,  lyn,  are  the  first  efforts  of  a 
child  to  say,  "  WTiare's  David  Lindesay  ?  "  *  and  that  the  subsequent 
words  begin  another  sentence  — 

..."  Upon  the  lute 

Then  played  I  twenty  springis  perqueir,"  etc. 

In  another  place,  "  justing  lumis,"  i.  e.  looms,  or  implements  of  tilt- 
ing, is  facetiously  interpreted  "  playful  limbs."  Many  such  minute 
errors  could  be  pointed  out;  but  these  are  only  mentioned  inci- 
dentally, and  not  as  diminishing  the  real  merit  of  the  edition. 

*  It  is  suggested  by  an  ingenious  correspondent  that  pa,  da,  lyn, 
ought  rather  to  be  interpreted,  play,  Davy  Lyndesay. 


MARMION.  327 

fact,  it  was  the  mimicry  of  a  royal  coronation,  except  that  the 
unction  was  made  with  wine  instead  of  oil.  In  Scotland,  a  name- 
sake and  kinsman  of  Sir  David  Lindesay,  inaugurated  in  1592, 
"  was  crowned  by  King  James  with  the  ancient  crown  of  Scot- 
land, which  was  used  before  the  Scottish  kings  assumed  a  close 
crown  ;  "  and,  on  occasion  of  the  same  solemnity,  dined  at  the 
king's  table,  wearing  the  crown.  It  is  probable  that  the  cor- 
onation of  his  predecessor  was  not  less  solemn.  So  sacred  was 
the  herald^s  office  that,  in  1515,  Lord  Drummond  was  by 
Parliament  declared  guilty  of  treason,  and  his  lands  forfeited, 
because  he  had  struck  with  his  fist,  the  Lion  King-at-arms, 
when  he  reproved  him  for  his  follies.1  Nor  was  he  restored, 
but  at  the  Lion's  earnest  solicitation. 


NOTE  K. 
Crichtoun  Castle.  —  p.  155. 

A  large  ruinous  castle  on  the  banks  of  the  Tyne,  about  ten 
miles  from  Edinburgh.  As  indicated  in  the  text,  it  was  built 
at  different  times,  and  with  a  very  differing  regard  to  splendour 
and  accommodation.  The  oldest  part  of  the  building  is  a  nar- 
row keep,  or  tower,  such  as  formed  the  mansion  of  a  lesser 
Scottish  baron ;  but  so  many  additions  have  been  made  to  it, 
that  there  is  now  a  large  courtyard,  surrounded  by  buildings  of 
different  ages.  The  eastern  front  of  the  court  is  raised  above 
a  portico,  and  decorated  with  entablatures,  bearing  anchors. 
All  the  stones  of  this  front  are  cut  into  diamond  facets,  the 
angular  projections  of  which  have  an  uncommonly  rich  appear- 
ance. The  inside  of  this  part  of  the  building  appears  to  have 
contained  a  gallery  of  great  length  and  uncommon  elegance. 
Access  was  given  to  it  by  a  magnificent  staircase,  now  quite 
destroyed.  The  soffits  are  ornamented  with  twining  cordage 
and  rosettes,  and  the  whole  seems  to  have  been  far  more 
splendid  than  was  usual  in  Scottish  castles.  The  castle  be- 
longed originally  to  the  chancellor,  Sir  William  Crichton,  and 

*The  record  expresses,  or,  rather,  is  said  to  have  expressed,  the 
cause  of  forfeiture  to  be :  "  Eo  quod  Leonem,  armorum  Regempuffno 
violasset  dum  eum  de  ineptiis  suis  admonet."  See  Nisbet's  Heraldry , 
Part  iv.  chap.  xvi. ;  and  Leslcei  Historia  ad  Annum  1515. 


328  APPENDIX   TO 

probably  owed  to  him  its  first  enlargement,  as  well  as  its  being 
taken  by  the  Earl  of  Douglas,  who  imputed  to  Crich ton's  coun- 
sels the  death  of  his  predecessor,  Earl  William,  beheaded  in 
Edinburgh  Castle,  with  his  brother,  in  1440.  It  is  said  to  have 
been  totally  demolished  on  that  occasion,  but  the  present  state 
of  the  ruin  shows  the  contrary.  In  1483  it  was  garrisoned  by 
Lord  Crichton,  then  its  proprietor,  against  King  James  III., 
whose  displeasure  he  had  incurred  by  seducing  his  sister  Mar- 
garet, in  revenge,  it  is  said,  for  the  monarch  having  dishonoured 
his  bed.  From  the  Crichton  family  the  castle  passed  to  that 
of  the  Hepburns,  Earls  Bothwell ;  and  when  the  forfeitures  of 
Stewart,  the  last  Earl  Bothwell,  were  divided,  the  barony  and 
castle  of  Crichton  fell  to  the  share  of  the  Earl  of  Buccleuch. 
They  were  afterward  the  property  of  the  Pringles  of  Clifton, 
and  are  now  that  of  Sir  John  Callander,  Baronet.  It  were  to 
be  wished  the  proprietor  would  take  a  little  pains  to  preserve 
these  splendid  remains  of  antiquity,  which  are  at  present  used 
as  a  fold  for  sheep  and  wintering  cattle ;  although,  perhaps, 
there  are  very  few  ruins  in  Scotland  which  display  so  well  the 
style  and  beauty  of  ancient  castle-architecture.  The  castle  of 
Crichton  has  a  dungeon  vault,  called  the  Massy  More.  The 
epithet,  which  is  not  uncommonly  applied  to  the  prisons  of 
other  old  castles  in  Scotland,  is  of  Saracenic  origin.  It  occurs 
twice  in  the  Epistolas  Itinerarice  of  Tollius.  "  Career  subter- 
raneus,  sive,  ut  Mauri  appellant,  Mazmorra,"  p.  147  ;  and 
again,  "  Coguntur  omnes  Captivi  sub  noctem  in  ergastula  sub- 
terranea,  quce  Turcce  Algezerani  vacant  Mazmorras,"  p.  243. 
The  same  word  applies  to  the  dungeons  of  the  ancient  Moorish 
castles  in  Spain,  and  serves  to  show  from  what  nation  the 
Gothic  style  of  castle-building  was  originally  derived.1 


*In  Scotland,  formerly,  as  still  in  some  parts  of  Greece,  the 
great  chieftains  required,  as  an  acknowledgment  of  their  authority, 
that  those  who  passed  through  their  lands  should  repair  to  their 
castle,  to  explain  the  purpose  of  their  journey,  and  receive  the  hospi- 
tality suited  to  their  rank.  To  neglect  this  was  held  discourtesy  in 
the  great,  and  insolence  in  the  inferior  traveller ;  and  so  strictly  was 
the  etiquette  insisted  on  by  some  feudal  lords,  that  the  Lord  Oliphant 
is  said  to  have  planted  guns  at  his  castle  of  Newtyle  in  Angus,  so  as  to 
command  the  high-road,  and  compel  all  restive  passengers  to  do  this 
act  of  homage. 

It  chanced  when  such  ideas  were  predominant,  that  the  Lord  of 


MARMION.  329 

NOTE  L. 

For  that  a  messenger  from  heaven, 
In  vain  to  James  had  counsel  given, 
Against  the  English  war.  —  p.  159. 

This  story  is  told  by  Pitscottie  with  characteristic  sim- 
plicity :  "The  king,  seeing  that  France  could  get  no  support 
of  him  for  that  time,  make  a  proclamation,  full  hastily,  through 
all  the  realm  of  Scotland,  both  east  and  west,  south  and  north, 
as  well  in  the  isles  as  in  the  firm  land,  to  all  manner  of  men 
between  sixty  and  sixteen  years,  that  they  should  be  ready, 
within  twenty  days,  to  pass  with  him,  with  forty  days  victual, 
and  to  meet  at  the  Burrow-muir  of  Edinburgh,  and  there  to  pass 
forward  where  he  pleased.  His  proclamations  were  hastily 
obeyed,  contrary  the  Council  of  Scotland's  will ;  but  every 
man  loved  his  prince  so  well  that  they  would  on  no  ways  dis- 
obey him ;  but  every  man  caused  make  his  proclamation  so 
hastily,  conform  to  the  charge  of  the  king's  proclamation. 

"The  king  came  to  Lithgow,  where  he  happened  to  be  for 
the  time  at  the  Council,  very  sad  and  dolorous,  making  his 
devotion  to  God,  to  send  him  good  chance  and  fortune  in  his 
voyage.  In  this  meantime,  there  came  a  man,  clad  in  a  blue 
gown,  in  at  the  kirk  door,  and  belted  about  him  in  a  roll  of 
linen  cloth  ;  a  pair  of  brotikings l  on  his  feet,  to  the  great  of  his 


Crichton  Castle  received  intelligence  that  a  Southern  chieftain  of 
high  rank,  some  say  Scott  of  Buccleuch,  was  to  pass  his  dwelling  on 
his  return  from  court.  The  Lord  Crichton  made  great  preparation  to 
banquet  his  expected  guest,  who,  nevertheless,  rode  past  the  castle 
without  paying  the  expected  visit.  In  his  first  burst  of  indignation, 
the  baron  pursued  the  discourteous  traveller  with  a  body  of  horse, 
made  him  prisoner,  and  confined  him  in  the  dungeon,  while  he  him- 
self and  his  vassals  feasted  upon  the  good  cheer  which  had  been  pro- 
vided. With  the  morning,  however,  came  reflection,  and  anxiety  for 
the  desperate  feud  which  impended,  as  the  necessary  consequence  of 
his  rough  proceeding.  It  is  said  that,  by  way  of  amende  honorable, 
the  baron,  upon  the  second  day,  placed  his  compelled  guest  in  his 
seat  of  honour  in  the  hall,  while  he  himself  retired  into  his  own 
dungeon,  and  thus  did  at  once  penance  for  his  rashness,  satisfied  the 
honour  of  the  stranger  chief,  and  put  a  stop  to  the  feud  which  must 
otherwise  have  taken  place  between  them.  —  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Pro- 
vincial Antiquities,  vol.  i.  p.  25-6. 
i  Buskins. 


330  APPENDIX   TO 

legs,  with  all  other  hose  and  clothes  conform  thereto ;  but  he 
had  nothing  on  his  head,  but  syde J  red  yellow  hair  behind, 
and  on  his  haffets,2  which  wan  down  to  his  shoulders ;  but  his 
forehead  was  bald  and  bare.  He  seemed  to  be  a  man  of  two 
and  fifty  years,  with  a  great  pike-staff  in  his  hand,  and  came 
first  forward  among  the  lords,  crying  and  speiring8  for  the 
king,  saying  he  desired  to  speak  with  him.  While,  at  the  last, 
he  came  where  the  king  was  sitting  in  the  desk  at  his  prayers ; 
but  when  he  saw  the  king,  he  made  him  little  reverence  or 
salutation,  but  leaned  down  groffling  on  the  desk  before  him, 
and  said  to  him  in  this  manner,  as  after  follows :  '  Sir  king, 
my  mother  hath  sent  me  to  you,  desiring  you  not  to  pass,  at 
this  time,  where  thou  art  purposed  ;  for  if  thou  does,  thou  wilt 
not  fare  well  in  thy  journey,  nor  none  that  passeth  with  thee. 
Further,  she  bade  thee  mell*  with  no  woman,  nor  use  their 
counsel,  nor  let  them  touch  thy  body,  nor  thou  theirs ;  for,  if 
thou  do  it,  thou  wilt  be  confounded  and  brought  to  shame.' 

"By  this  man  had  spoken  thir  words  unto  the  king's 
grace,  the  evening-song  was  near  done,  and  the  king  paused 
on  thir  words,  studying  to  give  him  an  answer ;  but,  in  the 
meantime,  before  the  king's  eyes,  and  in  the  presence  of  all 
the  lords  that  were  about  him  for  the  time,  this  man  vanished 
away,  and  could  no  ways  be  seen  or  comprehended,  but  van- 
ished away  as  he  had  been  a  blink  of  the  sun,  or  a  whip  of  the 
whirlwind,  and  could  no  more  be  seen.  I  heard  say,  Sir 
David  Lindesay,  Lyon-herauld,  and  John  Inglis  the  marshal, 
who  were,  at  that  tune,  young  men,  and  special  servants  to  the 
king's  grace,  were  standing  presently  beside  the  king,  who 
thought  to  have  laid  hands  on  this  man,  that  they  might  have 
speired  further  tidings  at  him.  But  all  for  nought ;  they 
could  not  touch  him  ;  for  he  vanished  away  betwixt  them,  and 
was  no  more  seen." 

Buchanan,  in  more  elegant,  though  not  more  impressive 
language,  tells  the  same  story,  and  quotes  the  personal  infor- 
mation of  our  Sir  David  Lindesay  :  "In  iis,  (i.e.  qui  propius 
astiterant)  fuit  David  Lindesius,  Montanus,  homo  spectator 
fidei  et  probitatis,  nee  a  literarum  studiis  alienus,  et  cvjus 
totius  vita  tenor  longissime  a  mentiendo  dberrat;  a  quo  nisi 

1  Long.  z  Cheeks.  3  Asking.  *  Meddle. 


MARMION.  331 

ego  hcec  uti  tradidi,  pro  certis  accepissem,  ut  vulgatam  vanis 
rumoribus  fdbulum,  omissurus  eram."  — Lib.  xiii.  The  king's 
throne,  in  St.  Catherine's  aisle,  which  he  had  constructed  for 
himself,  with  twelve  stalls  for  the  Knights  Companions  of  the 
Order  of  the  Thistle,  is  still  shown  as  the  place  where  the 
apparition  was  seen.  I  know  not  by  what  means  St.  Andrew 
got  the  credit  of  having  been  the  celebrated  monitor  of  James 
IV. ;  for  the  expression  in  Lindesay's  narrative,  "My  mother 
has  sent  me,"  could  only  be  used  by  St.  John,  the  adopted 
son  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  The  whole  story  is  so  well  attested, 
that  we  have  only  the  choice  between  a  miracle  or  an  imposture. 
Mr.  Pinkerton  plausibly  argues,  from  the  caution  against  in- 
continence, that  the  queen  was  privy  to  the  scheme  of  those 
who  had  recourse  to  this  expedient,  to  deter  King  James  from 
his  impolitic  war. 

NOTE  M. 
Archibald  Bell-the-Cat.  —p.  210. 

Archibald  Douglas,  Earl  of  Angus,  a  man  remarkable 
for  strength  of  body  and  mind,  acquired  the  popular  name 
of  Bell-the-Cat,  upon  the  following  remarkable  occasion : 
James  the  Third,  of  whom  Pitscottie  complains  that  he  de- 
lighted more  in  music,  and  "policies  of  building,"  than  in 
hunting,  hawking,  and  other  noble  exercises,  was  so  ill-ad- 
vised as  to  make  favourites  of  his  architects  and  musicians, 
whom  the  same  historian  irreverently  terms  masons  and 
fiddlers.  His  nobility,  who  did  not  sympathise  in  the  king's 
respect  for  the  fine  arts,  were  extremely  incensed  at  the  hon- 
ours conferred  on  those  persons,  particularly  on  Cochrane,  a 
mason,  who  had  been  created  Earl  of  Mar ;  and,  seizing  the 
opportunity,  when,  in  1482,  the  king  had  convoked  the  whole 
array  of  the  country  to  march  against  the  English,  they  held  a 
midnight  council  in  the  church  of  Lauder,  for  the  purpose  of 
forcibly  removing  these  minions  from  the  king's  person.  When 
all  had  agreed  on  the  propriety  of  this  measure,  Lord  Gray 
told  the  assembly  the  apologue  of  the  Mice,  who  had  formed  a 
resolution  that  it  would  be  highly  advantageous  to  their  com- 
munity to  tie  a  bell  around  the  cat's  neck,  that  they  might  hear 
her  approach  at  a  distance ;  but  which  public  measure  un- 


332  APPENDIX   TO 

fortunately  miscarried,  from  no  mouse  being  willing  to  under- 
take the  task  of  fastening  the  bell.  "  I  understand  the 
moral,"  said  Angus,  "and,  that  what  we  propose  may  not 
lack  execution,  I  will  bell  the  cat."  The  rest  of  the  strange 
scene  is  thus  told  by  Pitscottie  : 

"By  this  was  advised  and  spoken  by  thir  lords  foresaid, 
Cochran,  the  Earl  of  Mar,  came  from  the  king  to  the  council 
(which  council  was  holden  in  the  kirk  of  Lauder  for  the  time), 
who  was  well  accompanied  with  a  band  of  men  of  war,  to  the 
number  of  three  hundred  light  axes,  all  clad  in  white  livery, 
and  black  bends  thereon,  that  they  might  be  known  for  Coch- 
ran the  Earl  of  Mar's  men.  Himself  was  clad  in  a  riding-pie 
of  black  velvet,  with  a  great  chain  of  gold  about  his  neck,  to 
the  value  of  five  hundred  crowns,  and  four  blowing  horns, 
with  both  the  ends  of  gold  and  silk,  set  with  a  precious  stone, 
called  a  berryl,  hanging  in  the  midst.  This  Cochran  had  his 
heumont  born  before  him,  overgilt  with  gold,  and  so  were  all 
the  rest  of  his  horns,  and  all  his  pallions  were  of  fine  canvas  of 
silk,  and  the  cords  thereof  fine  twined  silk,  and  the  chains 
upon  his  pallions  were  double  overgilt  with  gold. 

"  This  Cochran  was  so  proud  in  his  conceit,  that  he  counted 
no  lords  to  be  marrows  to  him,  therefore  he  rushed  rudely  at 
the  kirk-door.  The  council  enquired  who  it  was  that  perturbed 
them  at  that  time.  Sir  Eobert  Douglas,  Laird  of  Lochleven, 
was  keeper  of  the  kirk-door  at  that  time,  who  enquired  who 
that  was  that  knocked  so  rudely  ?  and  Cochran  answered, 
'This  is  I,  the  Earl  of  Mar.'  The  which  news  pleased  well 
the  lords,  because  they  were  ready  boun  to  cause  take  him,  as 
is  before  rehearsed.  Then  the  Earl  of  Angus  past  hastily  to 
the  door,  and  with  him  Sir  Eobert  Douglas  of  Lochleven,  there 
to  receive  in  the  Earl  of  Mar,  and  so  many  of  his  complices 
who  were  there,  as  they  thought  good.  And  the  Earl  of  Angus 
met  with  the  Earl  of  Mar,  as  he  came  in  at  the  door,  and  pulled 
the  golden  chain  from  his  craig,  and  said  to  him  a  tow 1  would 
set  him  better.  Sir  Robert  Douglas  syne  pulled  the  blowing 
horn  from  him  in  like  manner,  and  said,  '  He  had  been  the 
hunter  of  mischief  over  long.'  This  Cochran  asked,  '  My  lords, 
is  it  mows,2  or  earnest  ?  '  They  answered,  and  said,  '  It  is 

»Rope.  *Jest. 


MARMION.  333 

good  earnest,  and  so  thou  shalt  find ;  for  thou  and  thy  com- 
plices have  abused  our  prince  this  long  time ;  of  whom  thou 
shalt  have  no  more  credence,  but  shalt  have  thy  reward  accord- 
ing to  thy  good  service,  as  thou  hast  deserved  in  times  bypast ; 
right  so  the  rest  of  thy  followers. ; 

"  Notwithstanding,  the  lords  held  them  quiet  till  they  caused 
certain  armed  men  to  pass  into  the  king's  pallion,  and  two  or 
three  wise  men  to  pass  with  them,  and  give  the  king  fair  pleas- 
ant words,  till  they  laid  hands  on  all  the  king's  servants,  and 
took  them  and  hanged  them  before  his  eyes  over  the  bridge  of 
Lawder.  Incontinent  they  brought  forth  Cochran,  and  his 
hands  bound  with  a  tow,  who  desired  them  to  take  one  of  his 
own  pallion  tows  and  bind  his  hands,  for  he  thought  shame  to 
have  his  hands  bound  with  such  tow  of  hemp,  like  a  thief. 
The  lords  answered,  he  was  a  traitor,  he  deserved  no  better ; 
and,  for  despight,  they  took  a  hair  tether,1  and  hanged  him 
over  the  bridge  of  Lawder,  above  the  rest  of  his  complices."  — 
Pitscottie,  p.  78,  folio  edit. 

NOTE  N. 
This  awful  summons  came.  — p.  226. 

This  supernatural  citation  is  mentioned  by  all  our  Scottish 
historians.  It  was,  probably,  like  the  apparition  at  Linlithgow, 
an  attempt,  by  those  averse  to  the  war,  to  impose  upon  the 
superstitious  temper  of  James  IV.  The  following  account 
from  Pitscottie  is  characteristically  minute,  and  furnishes,  be- 
sides, some  curious  particulars  of  the  equipment  of  the  army 
of  James  IV.  I  need  only  add  to  it,  that  Plotcock,  or  Plu- 
tock,  is  no  other  than  Pluto.  The  Christians  of  the  middle 
ages  by  no  means  misbelieved  in  the  existence  of  the  heathen 
deities  ;  they  only  considered  them  as  devils  ;  2  and  Plotcock, 
so  far  from  implying  anything  fabulous,  was  a  synonym  of 
the  grand  enemy  of  mankind.  "Yet  all  thir  warnings,  and 

i  Halter. 

*See,  on  this  curious  subject,  the  Essay  on  Fairies,  in  the  Border 
Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  under  the  fourth  head ;  also  Jackson  on  Unbetief, 
p.  175.  Chaucer  calls  Pluto  the  "  King  of  Faerie ; "  and  Dunbar  names 
him,  "  Pluto,  that  elrich  incubus."  If  he  was  not  actually  the  devil, 
he  must  be  considered  as  the  "  prince  of  the  power  of  the  air."  The 


334  APPENDIX   TO 

uncouth  tidings,  nor  no  good  counsel,  might  stop  the  king,  at 
this  present,  from  his  vain  purpose,  and  wicked  enterprise,  but 
hasted  him  fast  to  Edinburgh,  and  there  to  make  his  provision 
and  furnishing,  in  having  forth  of  his  army  against  the  day 
appointed,  that,  they  should  meet  in  the  Burrow-muir  of  Edin- 
burgh :  That  is  to  say,  seven  cannons  that  he  had  forth  of 
the  Castle  of  Edinburgh,  which  were  called  the  Seven  Sisters, 
casten  by  Robert  Borthwick,  the  master-gunner,  with  other 
small  artillery,  bullet,  powder,  and  all  manner  of  order,  as 
the  master-gunner  could  devise. 

"In  this  meantime,  when  they  were  taking  forth  their 
artillery,  and  the  king  being  in  the  abbey  for  the  tune,  there 
was  a  cry  heard  at  the  Market-cross  of  Edinburgh,  at  the  hour 
of  midnight,  proclaiming  as  it  had  been  a  summons,  which 
was  named  and  called  by  the  proclaimer  thereof,  The  Sum- 
mons of  Plotcock ;  which  desired  all  men  to  compear,  both 
earl,  and  lord,  and  baron,  and  all  honest  gentlemen  within 
the  town  (every  man  specified  by  his  own  name),  to  compear, 
within  the  space  of  forty  days,  before  his  master,  where  it 
should  happen  him  to  appoint,  and  be  for  the  tune,  under  the 
pain  of  disobedience.  But  whether  this  summons  was  pro- 
claimed by  vain  persons,  night-walkers,  or  drunken  men,  for 
their  pastime,  or  if  it  was  a  spirit,  I  cannot  tell  truly ;  but  it 
was  shown  to  me,  that  an  indweller  of  the  town,  Mr.  Richard 
Lawson,  being  evil  disposed,  ganging  in  his  gallery-stair  f  ore- 
anent  the  Cross,  hearing  this  voice  proclaiming  this  summons, 
thought  marvel  what  it  should  be,  cried  on  his  servant  to 
bring  him  his  purse  ;  and  when  he  had  brought  him  it,  he  took 
out  a  crown,  and  cast  over  the  stair,  saying,  '  I  appeal  from 
that  summons,  judgment,  and  sentence  thereof,  and  takes  me 
all  whole  in  the  mercy  of  God,  and  Christ  Jesus  his  son.' 
Verily,  the  author  of  this,  that  caused  me  write  the  manner  of 
this  summons,  was  a  landed  gentleman,  who  was  at  that  time 
twenty  years  of  age,  and  was  in  the  town  the  time  of  the  said 
summons ;  and  thereafter,  when  the  field  was  stricken,  he 
swore  to  me,  there  was  no  man  that  escaped  that  was  called  in 

most  remarkable  instance  of  these  surviving  classical  superstitions 
is  that  of  the  Germans,  concerning  the  Hill  of  Venus,  into  which  she 
attempts  to  entice  all  gallant  knights,  and  detains  them  there  in  a 
sort  of  Fools'  Paradise. 


MARMION.  335 

this  summons,  bat  that  one  man  alone  which  made  his  protes- 
tation, and  appealed  from  the  said  summons ;  but  all  the  lave 
were  perished  in  the  field  with  the  king.1' 

NOTE  O. 

Where  my  great-grandsire  came  of  old, 
With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair.  — p.  245. 

Mr.  Scott  of  Harden,  my  kind  and  affectionate  friend,  and 
distant  relation,  has  the  original  of  a  poetical  invitation,  ad- 
dressed from  his  grandfather  to  my  relative,  from  which  a 
few  lines  in  the  text  are  imitated.  They  are  dated,  as  the 
epistle  in  the  text,  from  Mertoun-house,  the  seat  of  the  Harden 
family. 

"  With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair, 
And  reverend  apostolic  air, 
Free  of  anxiety  and  care, 
Come  hither,  Christmas-day,  and  dine ; 
We'll  mix  sobriety  with  wine, 
And  easy  mirth  with  thoughts  divine. 
We  Christians  think  it  holiday, 
On  it  no  sin  to  feast  or  play  ; 
Others,  in  spite,  may  fast  and  pray. 
No  superstition  in  the  use 
Our  ancestors  made  of  a  goose ; 
Why  may  not  we,  as  well  as  they, 
Be  innocently  blithe  that  day, 
On  goose  or  pie,  on  wine  or  ale, 
And  scorn  enthusiastic  zeal  ?  — 
Pray  come,  and  welcome,  or  plague  rott 
Your  friend  and  landlord,  Walter  Scott. 
".Mr.  Walter  Scott,  Lessuden." 

The  venerable  old  gentlemen,  to  whom  the  lines  are  ad- 
dressed, was  the  younger  brother  of  William  Scott  of  Raeburn. 
Being  the  cadet  of  a  cadet  of  the  Harden  family,  he  had  very 
little  to  lose ;  yet  he  contrived  to  lose  the  small  property  he 
had,  by  engaging  in  the  civil  wars  and  intrigues  of  the  house 
of  Stuart.  His  veneration  for  the  exiled  family  was  so  great, 
that  he  swore  he  would  not  shave  his  beard  till  they  were 


336  APPENDIX   TO 

restored,  —  a  mark  of  attachment,  which,  I  suppose,  had  been 
common  during  Cromwell's  usurpation  ;  for  in  Cowley's  Cutter 
of  Coleman  Street,  one  drunken  cavalier  upbraids  another  that, 
when  he  was  uot  able  to  afford  to  pay  a  barber,  he  affected  to 
"wear  a  beard  for  the  king."  I  sincerely  hope  this  was  not 
absolutely  the  original  reason  of  my  ancestor's  beard ;  which, 
as  appears  from  a  portrait  in  the  possession  of  Sir  Henry  Hay 
Macdougal,  Bart.,  and  another  painted  for  the  famous  Doc- 
tor Pitcairn,1  was  a  beard  of  a  most  dignified  and  venerable 
appearance. 


NOTE  P. 
The  SpiriVs  Blasted  Tree.  —p.  247. 

I  am  permitted  to  illustrate  this  passage,  by  inserting  Ceu- 
bren  yr  Ellyll,  The  Spirit's  Blasted  Tree,  a  legendary  tale,  by 
the  Reverend  George  Warrington  : 

"The  event  on  which  this  tale  is  founded  is  preserved  by 
tradition  in  the  family  of  the  Vaughans  of  Hengwyrt ;  nor  is 
it  entirely  lost,  even  among  the  common  people,  who  still  point 
out  this  oak  to  the  passenger.  The  enmity  between  the  two 
Welsh  chieftains,  Howel  Sele,  and  Owen  Glendwr,  was  ex- 
treme, and  marked  by  vile  treachery  in  the  one,  and  ferocious 
cruelty  in  the  other.2  The  story  is  somewhat  changed  and  sof- 
tened, as  more  favourable  to  the  character  of  the  two  chiefs, 
and  as  better  answering  the  purpose  of  poetry,  by  admitting 
the  passion  of  pity,  and  a  greater  degree  of  sentiment  in  the 
description.  Some  trace  of  Howel  Sele's  mansion  was  to  be 
seen  a  few  years  ago,  and  may  perhaps  be  still  visible,  in  the 
park  of  Nannau,  now  belonging  to  Sir  Robert  Vaughan,  Baro- 
net, in  the  wild  and  romantic  tracks  of  Merionethshire.  The 
abbey  mentioned  passes  under  two  names,  Vener  and  Cymmer. 
The  former  is  retained,  as  more  generally  used. 


1  The  old  gentleman  was  an  intimate  of  this  celebrated  genius.  By 
the  favour  of  the  late  Earl  of  Kellie,  descended  on  the  maternal  side 
from  Doctor  Pitcairn,  my  father  became  possessed  of  the  portrait  in 
question. 

JThe  history  of  their  feud  may  be  found  in  Pennant's  Tour  in 
Wales. 


MARMION.  337 

"THE  SPIRIT'S  BLASTED  TREE. 
"  Ceubren  yr  Ellyll. 

"Through  Nannau's  Chase  as  Howel  pass'd, 

A  chief  esteem'd  both  brave  and  kind, 
Far  distant  borne,  the  stag-hounds'  cry 
Came  murmuring  on  the  hollow  wind. 

"  Starting,  he  bent  an  eager  ear,  — 

How  should  the  sounds  return  again  ? 
His  hounds  lay  wearied  from  the  chase, 
And  all  at  home  his  hunter  train. 

"  Then  sudden  anger  flash' d  his  eye, 

And  deep  revenge  he  vow'd  to  take, 
On  that  bold  man  who  dared  to  force 
His  red-deer  from  the  forest  brake. 

"Unhappy  Chief  !  would  nought  avail, 

No  signs  impress  thy  heart  with  fear, 
Thy  lady's  dark  mysterious  dream, 
Thy  warning  from  the  hoary  seer  ? 

"  Three  ravens  gave  the  note  of  death, 

As  through  mid  air  they  wing'd  their  way  ; 
Then  o'er  his  head,  in  rapid  flight, 
They  croak,  — they  scent  their  destined  prey. 

"  Ul-omen'd  bird  !  as  legends  say, 

Who  hast  the  wondrous  power  to  know, 
While  health  fills  high  the  throbbing  veins, 
The  fated  hour  when  blood  must  flow. 

"  Blinded  by  rage,  alone  he  pass'd, 

Nor  sought  his  ready  vassals'  aid  : 
But  what  his  fate  lay  long  unknown, 
For  many  an  anxious  year  delay 'd. 

"  A  peasant  mark'd  his  angry  eye, 

He  saw  him  reach  the  lake's  dark  bourne, 
He  saw  him  near  a  Blasted  Oak, 
But  never  from  that  hour  return. 

22 


338  APPENDIX   TO 

"  Three  days  pass'd  o'er,  no  tidings  came  ;  — 
Where  should  the  Chief  his  steps  delay  ? 
With  wild  alarm  the  servants  ran, 

Yet  knew  not  where  to  point  their  way. 

"  His  vassals  ranged  the  mountain's  height, 
The  covert  close,  the  wide-spread  plain ; 
But  all  in  vain  their  eager  search, 
They  ne'er  must  see  their  lord  again. 

"Yet  Fancy,  in  a  thousand  shapes, 

Bore  to  his  home  the  Chief  once  more  : 
Some  saw  him  on  high  Moal's  top, 
Some  saw  him  on  the  winding  shore. 

*'  With  wonder  fraught  the  tale  went  round, 

Amazement  chain'd  the  hearer's  tongue ; 
Each  peasant  felt  his  own  sad  loss, 
Yet  fondly  o'er  the  story  hung. 

"  Oft  by  the  moon's  pale  shadowy  light, 

His  aged  nurse  and  steward  gray 
Would  lean  to  catch  the  storied  sounds, 
Or  mark  the  flitting  spirit  stray. 

"  Pale  lights  on  Cader's  rocks  were  seen, 
And  midnight  voices  heard  to  moan  ; 
'Twas  even  said  the  Blasted  Oak, 
Convulsive,  heaved  a  hollow  groan  : 

"  And  to  this  day  the  peasant  still, 

With  cautious  fear,  avoids  the  ground ; 
In  each  wild  branch  a  spectre  sees, 
And  trembles  at  each  rising  sound. 

"  Ten  annual  suns  had  held  their  course, 
In  summer's  smile,  or  winter  storm  ; 
The  lady  shed  the  widow'd  tear, 
As  oft  she  traced  his  manly  form. 

"  Yet  still  to  hope  her  heart  would  cling, 
As  o'er  the  mind  illusions  play,  — 


MARMION.  339 

Of  travel  fond,  perhaps  her  lord 
To  distant  lands  had  steer'd  his  way. 

"Twas  now  November's  cheerless  hour, 

Which  drenching  rains  and  clouds  deface  ; 
Dreary  bleak  Robell's  tract  appear'd, 
And  dull  and  dank  each  valley's  space. 

"  Loud  o'er  the  weir  the  hoarse  flood  fell, 

And  dash'd  the  foaming  spray  on  high  ; 
The  west  wind  bent  the  forest  tops, 
And  angry  frown'd  the  evening  sky. 

"A  stranger  pass'd  Llanelltid's  bourne, 

His  dark-gray  steed  with  sweat  besprent, 
Which,  wearied  with  the  lengthen'd  way, 
Could  scarcely  gain  the  hill's  ascent. 

"The  portal  reach'd,  —  the  iron  bell 

Loud  sounded  round  the  outward  wall ; 
Quick  sprang  the  warder  to  the  gate, 
To  know  what  meant  the  clam'rous  calL 

*"  O  !  lead  me  to  your  lady  soon  ; 
Say,  —  it  is  my  sad  lot  to  tell, 
To  clear  the  fate  of  that  brave  knight, 
She  long  has  proved  she  loved  so  well.' 

"  Then,  as  he  cross'd  the  spacious  hall, 
The  menials  look  surprise  and  fear  ; 
Still  o'er  his  harp  old  Modred  hung, 
And  touch'd  the  notes  for  grief's  worn  ear. 

"  The  lady  sat  amidst  her  train  ; 

A  mellow'd  sorrow  mark'd  her  look : 
Then,  asking  what  his  mission  meant, 
The  graceful  stranger  sigh'd  and  spoke  :  — 

*' '  O  could  I  spread  one  ray  of  hope, 

One  moment  raise  thy  soul  from  woe, 
Gladly  my  tongue  would  tell  its  tale, 
My  words  at  ease  unfetter'd  flow  ! 


340  APPENDIX   TO 

"  '  Now,  lady,  give  attention  due, 

The  story  claims  thy  full  belief : 
E'en  in  the  worst  events  of  life, 
Suspense  removed  is  some  relief. 

"  '  Though  worn  by  care,  see  Madoc  here, 

Great  Glyndwr's  friend,  thy  kindred's  foe  ; 
Ah,  let  his  name  no  anger  raise, 
For  now  that  mighty  Chief  lies  low. 

"  'E'en  from  the  day,  when,  chain'd  by  fate, 

By  wizard's  dream,  or  potent  spell, 
Lingering  from  sad  Salopia's  field, 
'Eeft  of  his  aid  the  Percy  fell ;  — 

"  '  E'en  from  that  day  misfortune  still, 

As  if  for  violated  faith, 
Pursued  him  with  unwearied  step  ; 
Vindictive  still  for  Hotspur's  death. 

" '  Vanquish'd  at  length,  the  Glyndwr  fled 

Where  winds  the  Wye  her  devious  flood  j 
To  find  a  casual  shelter  there, 
In  some  lone  cot,  or  desert  wood. 

"  '  Clothed  in  a  shepherd's  humble  guise, 
He  gain'd  by  toil  his  scanty  bread  ; 
He  who  had  Cambria's  sceptre  borne, 
And  her  brave  sons  to  glory  led  ! 

"'To  penury  extreme,  and  grief, 

The  Chieftain  fell  a  lingering  prey  ; 
I  heard  his  last  few  faltering  words, 
Such  as  with  pain  I  now  convey. 

''  t  «<  TO  Sele's  sad  widow  bear  the  tale, 

Nor  let  our  horrid  secret  rest ; 
Give  but  his  corse  to  sacred  earth, 
Then  may  my  parting  soul  be  blest."  — 

"  '  Dim  wax'd  the  eye  that  fiercely  shone, 

And  faint  the  tongue  that  proudly  spoke, 


MARMION.  341 

And  weak  that  arm,  still  raised  to  me, 
Which  oft  had  dealt  the  mortal  stroke. 

"  '  How  could  I  then  his  mandate  bear  ? 

Or  how  his  last  behest  obey  ? 
A  rebel  deem'd,  with  him  I  fled ; 

With  huii  I  shunn'd  the  light  of  day. 

"  '  Proscribed  by  Henry's  hostile  rage, 

My  country  lost,  despoil'd  my  land, 
Desperate,  I  fled  my  native  soil, 
And  fought  on  Syria's  distant  strand. 

*' '  O,  had  thy  long-lamented  lord 

The  holy  cross  and  banner  view'd, 
Died  in  the  sacred  cause  !  who  fell 
Sad  victim  of  a  private  feud  ! 

"  '  Led  by  the  ardour  of  the  chase, 

Far  distant  from  his  own  domain, 
From  where  Garthmaelan  spreads  her  shades, 
The  Glyndwr  sought  the  opening  plain. 

*' '  With  head  aloft,  and  antlers  wide, 

A  red  buck  roused  then  cross' d  in  view  ; 
Stung  with  the  sight,  and  wild  with  rage, 
Swift  from  the  wood  fierce  Howel  flew. 

"  '  With  bitter  taunt,  and  keen  reproach, 
He,  all  impetuous,  pour'd  his  rage  ; 
Reviled  the  Chief  as  weak  in  arms, 
And  bade  him  loud  the  battle  wage. 

" '  Glyndwr  for  once  restrain'd  his  sword, 

And,  still  averse,  the  fight  delays ; 
But  soften'd  words,  like  oil  to  fire, 
Made  anger  more  intensely  blaze. 

"  *  They  fought ;  and  doubtful  long  the  fray  I 

The  Glyndwr  gave  the  fatal  wound!  — 
Still  mournful  must  my  tale  proceed, 
And  its  last  act  all  dreadful  sound. 


342  APPENDIX   TO 

"  '  How  could  we  hope  for  wish'd  retreat, 

His  eager  vassals  ranging  wide, 
His  bloodhounds'  keen  sagacious  scent, 
O'er  many  a  trackless  mountain  tried  ? 

•* '  I  mark'd  a  broad  and  Blasted  Oak, 

Scorch'd  by  the  lightning's  livid  glare ; 
Hollow  its  stem  from  branch  to  root, 
And  all  its  shrivell'd  arms  were  bare. 

*' '  Be  this,  I  cried,  his  proper  grave  !  — 

(The  thought  in  me  was  deadly  sin,) 
Aloft  we  raised  the  hapless  Chief, 
And  dropp'd  his  bleeding  corpse  within.* 

"  A  shriek  from  all  the  damsels  burst, 

That  pierced  the  vaulted  roofs  below ; 
While  horror-struck  the  Lady  stood, 
A  living  form  of  sculptured  woe. 

"  With  stupid  stare,  and  vacant  gaze, 

Full  on  his  face  her  eyes  were  cast, 
Absorb' d  !  — she  lost  her  present  grief, 
And  faintly  thought  of  things  long  past. 

"  Like  wild-fire  o'er  a  mossy  heath, 

The  rumour  through  the  hamlet  ran ; 
The  peasants  crowd  at  morning  dawn, 
To  hear  the  tale  —  behold  the  man. 

"  He  led  them  near  the  Blasted  Oak, 

Then,  conscious,  from  the  scene  withdrew : 
The  peasants  work  with  trembling  haste, 
And  lay  the  whiten'd  bones  to  view  !  — 

"Back  they  recoil'd  !  —  the  right  hand  still, 

Contracted,  grasp'd  a  rusty  sword  ; 
Which  erst  in  many  a  battle  gleam'd, 
And  proudly  deck'd  their  slaughter'd  lord. 

"  They  bore  the  corse  to  Vener's  shrine, 
With  holy  rites  and  prayers  address'd  ; 


MARMION.  343 

Nine  white-robed  monks  the  last  dirge  sang, 
And  gave  the  angry  spirit  rest." 


NOTE  Q. 

Hence  might  they  see  the  full  array 

Of  either  host,  for  deadly  fray.  — p.  282. 

The  reader  cannot  here  expect  a  full  account  of  the  battle 
of  Flodden ;  but,  so  far  as  is  necessary  to  understand  the  ro- 
mance, I  beg  to  remind  him  that,  when  the  English  army,  by 
their  skilful  countermarch,  were  fairly  placed  between  King 
James  and  his  own  country,  the  Scottish  monarch  resolved  to 
fight ;  and,  setting  fire  to  his  tents,  descended  from  the  ridge 
of  Flodden  to  secure  the  neighbouring  eminence  of  Brankstone, 
on  which  that  village  is  built.  Thus  the  two  armies  met,  almost 
without  seeing  each  other,  when,  according  to  the  old  poem  of 
Flodden  Field,  — 

"  The  English  line  stretch'd  east  and  west, 

And  southward  were  their  faces  set ; 
The  Scottish  northward  proudly  prest, 
And  manfully  their  foes  they  met." 

The  English  army  advanced  in  four  divisions.  On  the  right, 
which  first  engaged,  were  the  sons  of  Earl  Surrey,  namely, 
Thomas  Howard,  the  Admiral  of  England,  and  Sir  Edmund, 
the  knight  marshal  of  the  army.  Their  divisions  were  sepa- 
rated from  each  other  ;  but,  at  the  request  of  Sir  Edmund,  his 
brother's  battalion  was  drawn  very  near  to  his  own.  The  centre 
was  commanded  by  Surrey  in  person  ;  the  left  wing  by  Sir 
Edward  Stanley,  with  the  men  of  Lancashire,  and  of  the  palat- 
inate of  Chester.  Lord  Dacres,  with  a  large  body  of  horse, 
formed  a  reserve.  When  the  smoke,  which  the  wind  had  driven 
between  the  armies,  was  somewhat  dispersed,  they  perceived 
the  Scots,  who  had  moved  down  the  hill  hi  a  similar  order 
of  battle,  and  in  deep  silence.1  The  Earls  of  Huntley  and  of 

1  Lesquelz  Escossois  descendirent  la  montaigne  en  bonne  ordre,  en 
la  maniere  que  marchent  lea  Allemans  sans  parler,  ne  faire  awcun 
bruit.  —  Gazette  of  the  Battle,  Pinkerton's  History,  Appendix,  vol..ii^ 
p.  456. 


344  APPENDIX   TO 

Home  commanded  their  left  wing,  and  charged  Sir  Edmund 
Howard  with  such  success  as  entirely  to  defeat  his  part  of  the 
English  right  wing.  Sir  Edmund's  banner  was  beaten  down, 
and  he  himself  escaped  with  difficulty  to  his  brother's  division. 
The  admiral,  however,  stood  firm  ;  and  Dacre  advancing  to  his 
support  with  the  reserve  of  cavalry,  probably  between  the  inter- 
val of  the  divisions  commanded  by  the  brothers  Howard,  appears 
to  have  kept  the  victors  in  effectual  check.  Home's  men, 
chiefly  Borderers,  began  to  pillage  the  baggage  of  both  armies  ; 
and  their  leader  is  branded,  by  the  Scottish  historians,  with 
negligence  or  treachery.  On  the  other  hand,  Huntley,  on  whom 
they  bestow  many  encomiums,  is  said,  by  the  English  historians, 
to  have  left  the  field  after  the  first  charge.  Meanwhile  the 
admiral,  whose  flank  these  chiefs  ought  to  have  attacked,  availed 
himself  of  their  inactivity,  and  pushed  forward  against  another 
large  division  of  the  Scottish  army  in  his  front,  headed  by  the 
Earls  of  Crawford  and  Montrose,  both  of  whom  were  slain,  and 
their  forces  routed.  On  the  left,  the  success  of  the  English  was 
yet  more  decisive ;  for  the  Scottish  right  wing,  consisting  of 
undisciplined  Highlanders,  commanded  by  Lennox  and  Argyle, 
was  unable  to  sustain  the  charge  of  Sir  Edward  Stanley,  and 
especially  the  severe  execution  of  the  Lancashire  archers.  The 
king  and  Surrey,  who  commanded  the  respective  centres  of 
their  armies,  were  meanwhile  engaged  in  close  and  dubious 
conflict.  James,  surrounded  by  the  flower  of  his  kingdom,  and 
impatient  of  the  galling  discharge  of  arrows,  supported  also  by 
his  reserve  under  Bothwell,  charged  with  such  fury  that  the 
standard  of  Surrey  was  in  danger.  At  that  critical  moment, 
Stanley,  who  had  routed  the  left  wing  of  the  Scottish,  pursued 
his  career  of  victory,  and  arrived  on  the  right  flank,  and  in  the 
rear  of  James's  division,  which,  throwing  itself  into  a  circle, 
disputed  the  battle  till  night  came  on.  Surrey  then  drew  back 
his  forces  ;  for  the  Scottish  centre  not  having  been  broken,  and 
their  left  wing  being  victorious,  he  yet  doubted  the  event  of  the 
field.  The  Scottish  army,  however,  felt  their  loss,  and  aban- 
doned the  field  of  battle  in  disorder,  before  dawn.  They  lost, 
perhaps,  from  eight  to  ten  thousand  men ;  but  that  included 
the  very  prime  of  their  nobility,  gentry,  and  even  clergy.  Scarce 
a  family  of  eminence  but  has  an  ancestor  killed  at  Flodden ; 
and  there  is  no  province  in  Scotland,  even  at  this  day,  where 


MARMION.  345 

the  battle  is  mentioned  without  a  sensation  of  terror  and 
sorrow.  The  English  lost  also  a  great  number  of  men,  perhaps 
within  one-third  of  the  vanquished,  but  they  were  of  inferior 
note.  See  the  only  distinct  detail  of  the  field  of  Flodden  in 
Pinkerton's  History,  Book  xi.  ;  all  former  accounts  being  full 
of  blunders  and  inconsistency. 

The  spot  from  which  Clara  views  the  battle  must  be  sup- 
posed to  have  been  on  a  hillock  commanding  the  rear  of  the 
English  right  whig,  which  was  defeated,  and  in  which  conflict 
Marmion  is  supposed  to  have  fallen.1 

1  In  1810,  as  Sir  Carnaby  Haggerstone's  workmen  were  digging  in 
Flodden  Field,  they  came  to  a  pit  filled  with  human  bones,  and  which 
seemed  of  great  extent ;  bat,  alarmed  at  the  sight,  they  immediately 
filled  np  the  excavation,  and  proceeded  no  farther. 

In  1817,  Mr.  Grey  of  Millfield  Hill  found,  near  the  traces  of  an 
ancient  encampment,  a  short  distance  from  Flodden  Hill,  a  tumulus, 
which,  on  removing,  exhibited  a  very  singular  sepulchre.  In  the 
centre,  a  large  urn  was  found,  but  in  a  thousand  pieces.  It  had  either 
been  broken  to  pieces  by  the  stones  falling  upon  it  when  digging,  or 
had  gone  to  pieces  on  the  admission  of  the  air.  This  urn  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  number  of  ells  formed  of  flat  stones,  in  the  shape  of 
graves,  but  too  small  to  hold  the  body  in  its  natural  state.  These 
sepulchral  recesses  contained  nothing  except  ashes,  or  dust  of  the 
same  kind  as  that  in  the  urn.  — Sykes's  Local  Records,  (2  vols.  8vo 
1833),  vol.  ii.  pp.  60  and  109. 


EDITOR'S  NOTES. 


(THE  notes  of  Scott  himself  are  so  copious  and  learned,  that 
the  editor  only  touches  on  a  few  points  as  to  which  additional 
information  may  be  desired.) 

THE  INTRODUCTIONS  TO  CANTOS. 

These  personal  addresses  to  Scott's  friends,  he  originally 
intended  to  publish  in  a  separate  volume.  An  advertisement 
of  1807  heralded  them  as  "  Six  Epistles  from  Ettrick  Forest." 
Probably  the  separate  publication  would  have  been  the  better 
plan.  Of  the  friends,  only  Heber,  and  perhaps  Ellis,  are  now 
well  remembered,  except  for  their  connection  with  Scott,  as 
shown  in  Lockhart,  and  in  the  Epistles.  As  a  proof  that 
journalism,  in  1808,  was  not  more  refined  than  in  some  modern 
cases,  we  note  that  the  Morning  Chronicle  accused  Scott  of 
publishing  different  versions  of  the  lament  for  Fox,  to  suit 
Whigs  or  Tories.  Beautiful  as  is  the  lament,  it  irritated  the 
waspish  Jeffrey,  for  Scott,  of  course,  was  the  poet  of  resistance 
to  Bonaparte,  so  dear  a  head  to  good  Whigs. 

CANTO  I. 

Xm.  — "The  famous  Lady  Ford."  The  legend,  in  Pits- 
cottie  and  elsewhere,  is  that  Lady  Heron  of  Ford  beguiled 
James  at  her  castle,  within  a  long  mile  of  Flodden,  while  she 
sent  information  to  Surrey.  Her  daughter  also  conquered  the 
virtue  of  James's  son,  the  young  Archbishop  of  St.  Andrews. 
No  such  daughter  is  known  to  genealogists.  "There  is  little 
or  no  reason  to  give  credence  to  the  old-wife's  tale  that  the 

347 


348  EDITOR'S   NOTES   TO 

inertion  on  the  part  of  James  was  due  to  the  fatal  charms  of 
dame  Elizabeth  Heron,  the  chatelaine  of  Ford."  The  exact 
reader  may  refer  to  Border  Holds  pp.  305-309,  by  Mr.  Cad- 
wallader  Bates.  Fixing  his  camp  on  Flodden  Edge,  James 
lived  for  part  of  a  week  at  Ford  Castle.  His  intention  was  to 
destroy  the  place.  Lady  Heron  negotiated  for  its  safety  on  the 
basis  of  release  of  Scottish  prisoners  in  English  hands.  Surrey 
did  not  sanction  the  arrangement,  and  the  Scots  rased  all  but  a 
wing  of  Ford  Castle  before  retiring  to  Flodden.  This  is  not 
very  consistent  with  the  double  love  affair,  reported  long  after- 
ward by  Protestant,  and  therefore  hostile  chroniclers. 

XXIX.  —  St.  Regulus.  This  saint  is  mythical,  apparently 
based  on  an  Irish  St.  Riaghail  of  much  later  date.  The  relics 
of  St.  Andrew  probably  reached  St.  Andrews  through  Bishop 
Acca,  sometime  of  Hexham,  in  the  ninth  century.  The  tower 
of  St.  Rule,  or  St.  Regulous,  is  probably  of  the  eleventh  or 
twelfth  century,  but  is  a  puzzle  to  antiquaries.  The  cave 
is  usually  assigned  to  St.  Caineach,  and  is  now  all  but  obliter- 
ated by  the  sea.  Mr.  Skene's  Celtic  Scotlandm&y  be  consulted. 

CANTO  II. 

Introduction.  —  Wallace's  Trench.  It  is  certain,  that,  in 
the  summer  of  1297,  after  the  surrender  of  the  Scottish  barons 
at  Irvine,  Wallace,  with  his  followers,  held  out  in  Ettrick  For- 
est. But  ancient  fortifications  far  older  than  Wallace's  day 
are  extremely  common  on  the  Border  hills,  and  probably 
Wallace's  Trench  may  be  one  of  these. 

"Sweet  St.  Mary's  Lake."  Wordsworth  wrote  "still," 
not  "sweet." 

"St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes"  (de  lacubus).  The  etymology  is 
not  too  certain.  The  permanent  pools  in  the  sands  between 
Holy  Isle  and  the  mainland  are  locally  styled  "Lowes."  We 
have  also  "The  Loch  of  the  Lowes,"  above  St.  Mary's  loch, 
which  some  derive  from  luce,  or  pike,  a  fish  too  abundant  in 
that  sheet  of  water. 

XIV.  —  St.  Cuthbert's  grave  has,  as  Lockhart  says,  been 
opened,  and  his  pectoral  cross,  with  other  objects,  is  in  the 
Chapter  Library,  at  Durham.  There  exists,  however,  a  kind 
of  legend  that  the  grave  was  not  the  right  grave,  which  is  still 


MARMION.  349 

unravaged  by  Protestant  curiosity.     The  relics,  such  as  the 
little  portable  silver-plated  altar,  axe  of  the  highest  curiosity. 

CANTO  III. 

Introduction.  —  William  Erskine.  This  amiable  man  was 
literally  done  to  death  by  a  scandal  of  no  very  important 
kind.  He  was  Scott's  most  intimate  friend  and  critic.  When 
Sir  Walter,  in  1845,  wrote  Bonnie  Dundee  these  spirited  verses, 
he  said,  "  I  wonder  if  they  are  good.  Ah,  poor  Will  Erskine, 
thou  couldst  and  wouldst  have  told  me."  The  song  is  one  of 
the  best  of  its  martial  sort  in  Scott's  works,  "The  cavalry 
canter  of  Bonnie  Dundee."  Sir  Walter's  letters  to  Erskine 
were  burned  by  "a  lady,  a  friend  of  the  family."  On  this 
female  idiot  let  "a  minstrel's  malison  be  said."  1  In  this  In- 
troduction Scott  is  his  own  critic,  as  in  the  Introduction  to 
The  Fortunes  of  Nigel.  Accurate  in  his  estimate  of  himself, 
he  places  his  friend  Joanna  Baillie  beside  Shakespeare  I 

XV.  —  "  Held  Romish  thunders  idle  fear."    This  is  in  1513, 
therefore  Henry's  animosity  against  Home  is  a  palpable  anach- 
ronism.    The  title  of  Defensor  Fidei  was  still  awaiting  him. 

XXIV.  —  "  Himself  he  saw,  amid  the  field, 

On  high  his  brandished  war  axe  wield." 

Alexander  III.  was  not  present  at  the  skirmishes  with  the 
Northmen  at  Largs. 

CANTO  IV. 

XIV.  —  "First  by  Achaius  borne."  Achaius  is  the  per- 
fectly mythical  Scottish  king  credited  with  initiating  our 
Ancient  League  with  France.  There  were  no  double  tressures 
in  Achaius' s  time.  For  poetical  purposes,  Scott  borrows  from 
such  imaginative  historians  as  Boece. 

XVI.  —  "A  ghostly  wight."     Lyndsay,  a  great  contemner 
of  ghosts,  vainly  tried  to  seize  this  appearance.     That  James's 
Queen  arranged  the  phantasm  is  not  probable.     She  was  as 
angry  with  her  brother,  Henry  VIII.,  as  James  himself ,  and, 
apparently,  not  less  eager  for  war.     Buchanan,  as  Scott  re- 
marks, had  the  story  from  Lyndsay  himself. 

1  See  Scott's  Journal,  vol.  i.  pp.  415, 416 


350  EDITOR'S  NOTES  TO 

CANTO  V. 

XV.  —  "Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood."  Scott's  note 
repeats  the  legend  of  James's  rudeness  to  Angus,  on  the  eve 
of  Flodden  fight.  The  earliest  evidence  (Rotta  de  Scocesi), 
written  a  month  or  so  after  the  battle  by  an  Italian  poet,  makes 
Angus  (Dalisse-Douglas)  take  part  in  the  battle,  and  only  re- 
monstrate with  James  when  he  begins  to  fight  like  a  private 
soldier.  Angus  was  then  a  man  over  sixty  years  of  age. 

CANTO  VI. 

XIV.  — The  tract  by  Mr.  Bates,1  already  cited  is  probably 
the  most  compendious,  learned,  and  accurate  of  the  many 
accounts  of  Flodden.  James  is  blamed  for  not  plunging  deeper 
into  England.  To  do  so  would  have  been  a  strategical  error. 
He  cleared  his  flanks  of  Norham,  Ford,  and  other  places  of 
strength,  and  then  awaited  Surrey  in  an  impregnable  position. 
His  object  was,  not  a  raid  on  a  large  scale,  but  to  effect  a 
diversion  in  the  interests  of  his  French  allies.  This  he  did, 
luring  Surrey  far  from  his  base.  James's  real  error  was,  not 
in  failing  to  oppose  Surrey  at  Twisel  Bridge,  but  in  leaving  his 
station  on  Flodden  Edge.  His  troops  were  well  supplied,  those 
of  Surrey  were  all  but  mutinous  from  want  of  beer,  and  could 
not  have  been  kept  together  for  three  days.  But  James  had 
accepted  challenge  to  battle ;  moreover,  he  had  once  before 
retreated  from  Surrey.  He  therefore  descended  from  Flodden 
Edge  to  Branxton,  where  he  fought  his  last  fight,  one  highly 
creditable  to  the  audacious  generalship  of  Surrey,  and  to  the 
mettle  of  his  ill-fed  and  wearied  men.  James  arrayed  his 
forces  well,  but  was  not  content  to  direct  them.  The  Border- 
ers got  out  of  hand,  and  began  to  plunder ;  the  Celts  made 
their  usual  rush,  and  fled,  as  was  usual,  when  it  failed.  The 
whole  English  army  gathered  around  the  central  division  of 
James  with  his  nobles.  He  then  sold  his  life  dearly,  fighting 
in  advance  of  "the  dark  impenetrable  wood"  of  the  Scottish 
spears.  He  was  ever  wont,  as  Ayala,  the  Spanish  ambassa- 
dor had  said,  years  earlier,  "to  begin  fighting  before  he  had 
given  his  orders." 

1  Mr.  C.  Bates.    Flodden  Field,  p.  19. 


MARMION.  351 

XXX. —  "Sybil  Grey."  The  well  spoken  of  is  hard  by 
Branxton,  on  the  roadside,  and  is  marked  by  no  memorial 
stone.  That  honour  has  been  paid,  by  the  late  Lady  Water- 
ford,  to  a  well  far  from  the  real  scene. 

XXXIII.  —  " Where's  Huntley,  and  where's  Home?" 
Where  indeed  ?  History  cannot  account  for  the  conduct  of 
Home,  who,  later,  was  not  undeservedly  executed  under  the 
Regent  Albany. 

XXXV.  —  "  The  Royal  Pilgrim."  Margaret  Tudor,  widow 
of  James,  married  the  young  Earl  of  Angus  within  her  year  of 
mourning.  Later,  desiring  a  divorce  from  Angus,  she  had  the 
audacity  to  declare  that  James  was  seen  alive  after  her  second 
wedding,  which  was,  therefore,  illegal  and  not  binding.  This 
originated,  or  perhaps  only  attests,  the  Scottish  disbelief  in 
the  death  of  James  IV. 


END   OF   VOLUME   H. 


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